West of the Moon, East of the Sun
by CRMediaGal
Summary: An Elven king without family or love. An Elleth without residence or optimism. Both are looking for the same thing, if only they could spot it in each other. A tale of forgiveness, renewed hope, and love. Thranduil x Tauriel. Post-BotFA, The Hobbit era.
1. Awarth (Abandonment)

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! **

**I've fallen - nay, crashed hard and burned - into _The Hobbit_ fandom. (Nothing like being ridiculously behind all of the hype!). Thus, I have a brand spankin' new story to share with you for this new obsession of mine. It demanded to be written, so I intend to see it through. :) **

**Important Notes Before Reading: This story marks my first foray into writing this rare pairing, which I've grown immensely fond of, as well as writing for the Tolkien fandom, so I beg your patience with me throughout this process. (Tolkien's world is quite overwhelming, to put it lightly). You may feel free to point out any inaccuracies you find, but please do bear in mind that this is a work of _fanfiction _and, therefore, _everything_ will be deviating from canon to a certain extent. As such, this fic follows the movie version of _The Hobbit_ (and some of _The Lord of the Rings_), not J. R. R. Tolkien's epic novels.****** I've researched certain aspects where its necessary, though (and hopefully accurately!). ****

****Fic is rated M for later mature content. I sincerely hope that readers of the Tolkien fandom will enjoy this tale as much as I'll be enjoying writing it.****

**Lastly, to my wonderful usual (SSHG!) readers, not to worry. I'm still working on all of my WIPs, as well as some new material for you. Feel free to follow along, though, if you'd like!**

**_**_Reviews are welcomed and appreciated! Without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing._**__**_  
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**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this. Artwork is entitled "lotr - because it was real" and credited to ItanHimitsu on DeviantArt.**

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><p><em><strong>West of the Moon, East of the Sun<strong>_

**By CRMediaGal**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Awarth (Abandonment)<br>**

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><p>'Because it was real.'<p>

That had been the mighty king's reply to the Elleth's sorrow. His words had been arresting, too; long-lasting and still heavily engraved in her mind.

So simple, so profound,_ so befitting..._

Tauriel had repeated them over and over to herself since then—that painful, exquisite truth that spoke of her heart's agonising despair—and yet, in the long, lonely year since her experience with grief had first began, she had gained no parting wisdom from its cruel message. It's repetition hadn't lessened the ache that continued to crush her heart, sucking whatever light out of her being it could devour.

_It doesn't matter_, she told herself. _Nothing matters anymore._

Indeed Tauriel, a once esteemed and spirited captain of the Mirkwood guards, had her flickering moments where the clouds momentarily parted and showed her the travelling stars—quick glimpses of brightness in an otherwise desolate darkness, of which she found no peace or quiet—but the utter hopelessness and loss still lingered on, hanging about her immortal person like a burden unshed, never seemingly intended to be parted.

_How much longer?_

Did mortals tend to mourn their losses forever? How could such a tremendous weight such as Grief be endured? Surely, the pain that Tauriel felt would as easily kill a mortal being, so how did they manage to carry on? How would _she_ carry on, particularly without anywhere to call home, where she might be permitted respite and rest from her weary heart?

Tauriel had lost track of time ages ago and wandered the outer realms of her homeland without much thought. The amount of tears she had shed since Kíli's passing at the Battle of the Five Armies couldn't be accounted, nor could the Elleth recall how she had survived to the present day.

Again, there wasn't much consideration for the day to day. One year in the life of an Elf was only a blink of the eye to mere mortals; a single exhale of breath.

_It means nothing._

Under the setting sun in Éothéod, where Tauriel had kept camp to the far east, she dwelled alone—a wanderer; a lone Elf with no permanent residence or kindred spirits to sing and dance and rejoice in the changing of the ages.

_You're alone, Tauriel. There is no going back, forward, sideways... Anywhere._

Tauriel watched the sun sneak behind the Lonely Mountain, her emerald eyes hollow and unlife-like as they turned, with morbid heartache, towards the direction of where the dwarf who had once captured her heart was decayed and buried. It was there that he lay in death alongside his brother and their king, Thorin, passing into memory, into shadow...

_Where I cannot follow._

'Do you think she could have loved me?' the dwarf had asked her once, gazing upon Tauriel as though she was someone else and not the shining star of his deepest wish.

_If only I'd answered. If only I'd told him, 'Yes'._

The sky grew pink, purple, and then black, nightfall disguising Tauriel's lamented tears as she retreated to her camp to cry another night. Alone.

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><p><em>"Ada!"<em>

_The Elven king, Thranduil, gently turned his head in search of the source of such a splendid, musical greeting. Internally, he wanted to wail; to wrap up his son—the only family he had left—in his arms and never, ever let him go. He refrained from succumbing to his personal sorrows. This was a celebration as much as a bittersweet victory for their people, and he wouldn't spoil it with tears._

_The king's sharp eyes spotted young Legolas amongst the crowd of well-wishers—their people—who had gathered at the front gates to welcome their king and his legions home from battle. There was much singing and rejoicing, with tossings of dying flowers and autumn leaves being strewn at his feet. The elven prince was no more than three feet high, but his lightness of foot was on proud display as he snuck softly between gatherers, fast approaching the grand elk his father rode and sporting the handsomest of grins to welcome him home._

_"Lonneg," Thranduil returned quietly, arms outstretched to receive the child gladly._

_Using the leg of the enormous beast to boost himself into the air, the Elven prince, Legolas, swung up and into his father's embrace, his tinier arms wrapping eagerly around Thranduil's neck._

_"Ada! You've returned!" he exclaimed happily, smiling as Thranduil pressed a feathery kiss to the top of his pale head._

_"I have." Thranduil reared back to return his son's bright smile, but his crystal blue eyes hinted at something else; something far graver than the ceremony that greeted him, weighing heavily upon his heart in such a way that it couldn't be contained from the highly perceptive child. "My, but how much you've grown!" the king added, his attempt at laughter short-lived._

_Legolas's blue irises, also as sharp as the kings, grew thoughtful. "Ada," he pressed Thranduil in a whisper, his gaze darting about the king's face, "where is Nana?"_

_Thranduil's strained smile slipped his mouth, surprising Legolas as his father's eyes turned watery and the beautiful lines on his face soured and deepened. He lips wove tightly together, too, the words that followed seemingly difficult to release._

_"Legolas," Thranduil began delicately, his register small and tender, "my son... Nana has..."_

_"Yes, Ada?" asked the child seriously; he angled his head of golden hair, waiting._

_Thranduil pressed Legolas closer to his chest, bringing them forehead to forehead. "Nana has...fallen."_

_Thranduil watched the prince blink a few times, his mind—and heart—trying to process the gravity of these words. "Nana?" Legolas repeated, staring up at Thranduil imploringly; the innocence in that cherished face shattered the king's heart. "She's...gone, Ada?"_

_"Yes, Legolas... Nana is gone. She fell...in battle."_

_Thranduil closed his eyes and rested his head against Legolas's, who, for a long moment, continued to search his father's tragic face, as though he required a more in-depth explanation for his mother's absence. The queen had gone off to fight alongside her king. The prince had never doubted that she wouldn't return with him. His mother and father were never without each other. How could it be so now, and forevermore?_

_Thranduil hugged his son tightly, feeling the little Elf shift and wiggle within his all-consuming embrace; but, he couldn't let go. He wasn't ready. After all he had lost, he couldn't lose the child as well, so he held on with all his might._

_Then a pair of miniature lips suddenly kissed the side of Thranduil's cheek, where a lone tear had fallen, unseen by the masses but caught by the young prince. With difficulty, Thranduil's eyes opened to receive Legolas's childlike warmth and fondness, unchanged despite the terribly sad news. The Elven prince re-secured his arms around his father's neck and whispered words into his ear that now haunted Thranduil every hour of the day._

_"I'm sorry Nana's gone," he murmured mournfully. "I shall never leave you, Ada."_

Thranduil's jaw unconsciously tightened as he sat in the solitary silence of his bedchambers, the trimmings and furnishings of which had been carved from the oldest oak of the forest. Here, he listened intently to the leaves that crumbled and withered outside, viewable beyond his open windows. He heard every single one as it detached from a branch and descended to the ground on the shoulders of the wind, seemingly without a sound. The ear of an Elven king heard them as they came to rest, however, one by one.

Today, and like many before it, such merciful signals from nature brought Thranduil no tranquility. Instead, the sight and sound of each falling leaf was like pouring salt into an old wound that refused to heal. It festered and worsened, piercing him with emotional pain and turmoil unmatched since the death of his beloved wife.

_He's gone, Vanya, and likely never to return. I lost you, and, now, my son is lost to me._

Thranduil inhaled a deep breath, wishing to still his bleak thoughts. How much more agony and suffering must he personally withstand? Had he not led his people for thousands of years with just, wisdom, and goodwill?

His family was gone, his lineage now forsaken. All the world would inevitably turn to darkness, and he and those of his people who remained would be called upon yet again to aid in the war against Sauron. How much more Elven blood must be spilt? How many more immortal lives must be cut short under _his_ command?

_None._

Thranduil's grip upon his carven staff of oak tightened as a gentle breeze kicked up and swept through the palace windows, catching on the king's long golden hair, whipping it freely about his shoulders.

Would it not be best to sail to the Grey Havens now, and be done with this godforsaken realm that had brought upon him nothing but ruin and misery?

_No. Not while my son still roams out there...somewhere...beyond my reach._

'I cannot go back,' had been Legolas's parting words to his father last they crossed paths at the Battle of the Five Armies a year ago.

In the end, Legolas's departure hadn't been unexpected, but it wounded Thranduil, nevertheless, to watch his son go.

Regardless of their differences of opinion on many crucial matters, none more so then the growing spread of Sauron's dark influences in the world, they had always had one another's backs. Father's and son's petty arguments and disagreements were many, particularly as Legolas grew older, but, still, they remained as close as ever, their bond unbreakable; or, as it turns out, so Thranduil had wrongfully believed.

_To think he would choose..._her _over me!_

The pounding in Thranduil's head was abruptly disrupted by the arrival of an Elven maid, who brought forth his requested wine and dinner for the evening in a silver goblet on a matching silver platter.

Thranduil hastily dismissed her and helped himself to his first sip of the wine, the contents of which trickled smoothly down the back of his throat, easing some of the unwritten tension festering within.

_Legolas wouldn't have left if it hadn't been for _her_ influence!_ his conscious heatedly toiled over._ That notorious Captain of the Guard! I should never have allowed him so much freedom, Vanya. Our son was so easily swayed by Tauriel; too good-natured to see past her charms to the faults within her character._

In a flash, Thranduil was on his feet and circling the room with fierce stride and power, the skin on the left-side of his face shrinking to nothing but alarmingly red, taut muscle. His left eye, too, glowed misty and grey, no longer Elf-like but something far more sinister and terrible.

_I was right to have banished her; that treacherous, faithless dog! Because of Tauriel, I have lost my family. I have lost everything that is near and precious to me, including my only son._

Thranduil's robes billowed from behind as he stalked to a window and looked out upon the far reaches of his realm. All was calm, undisturbed, but for the thoughts raging in the angry king's mind.

_May she bemoan her disloyalty. May she never know peace, just as I have hardly known of it myself._

'I cannot go back.' The words wrung in the Elven king's head louder and more bitter than ever, turning over and over without rest.

_Nor can I, my son. Nor can I.  
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><p>That morning started out like any other: uneventful, mundane, and entirely typical.<p>

Tauriel awoke at dawn's first light, unable to fall back asleep (and not really caring whether or not that she had the freedom to choose). A light rain had fallen during the night, marking the ground and caking it with mud. Tauriel cared not. She set out for the river, an approximate six-mile hike on foot; but, for an Elf, such an endeavour was hardly tiresome. She arrived in virtually no time at all, unmindful of the picturesque walk that had brought her to this treasured spot.

Well, not treasured. _Expected_, more like.

The leaves had long since turned to a speckle of lush golden fires and crimson reds, though Tauriel paid the changing of the season little mind. Such natural transformations were of great importance to her kin and normally celebrated at the first full moon, but, as Tauriel was no longer a part of the Woodland realm, she couldn't find the joy in her heart to commemorate the coming of autumn; certainly, not on her own.

_What does it matter?_ For the always veering Elleth, the answer was continuously the same: _None of it matters anymore._

Tauriel sought refuge beneath an enormous mound of rock to wash her clothes with limited supplies she had gathered on her aimless journey. It had probably been a week since she had last bathed, but cleanliness was another importance the former Elven captain found herself not keeping track of. Besides, she had found that any lingering stench she carried kept strangers at a distance, and that was an added welcome. Most were too suspicious at spotting a wandering Elf of no homage to bother her, and Tauriel hadn't the patience or the will to explain her story to those who were curious.

What a juicy tale the locals would make of Tauriel's plight, if they knew: an Elleth banished by her king for disobeying his command that she return home rather than track Orcs, only to meet him on the battlefield, where she defied him further by pointing an arrow directly at his face, threatened to kill him should he attempt to pass, and proclaimed to him and their people who bore witness that 'there was no love' in her king.

_A juicy tale indeed_, she scoffed as she headed back to her camp by dusk, the clothes on her back now properly dry and unsoiled.

The ground was no longer mucky, making the trek far easier on foot, though, as an Elf, Tauriel hardly required good weather on her side to saunter her way back with success. She reached camp as the last of daylight settled behind the Lonely Mountain, only realising as she crept into her tent that she hadn't eaten a thing all day.

_Too much effort_, she determined without much consideration, and quickly settled in for the night. _Perhaps I'll eat something tomorrow._

_Or you could let yourself waste away?_

_Don't be a fool. You're hardly the 'type' to off yourself. What kind of an Elf would resort to such measures? No, Tauriel... Centre yourself. Besides, if you'd _really_ wanted to die back there on the mountain, you'd have done so._

_If only..._

_Yes... If only I'd died with him._

Tauriel's heavy eyelids closed, and, soon, she was fast asleep, dreaming of another time, not very long ago, when she had come so close to uttering the one word that might have changed everything for her and the dwarf she had grown to love: 'Yes'.

_Yes... I could have loved him._

Tauriel wasn't aware of the cloaked group of twelve who descended upon her tent until it was almost too late. The barely audible snap of twigs outside her tent shot the former captain of the king's guard eyes open, her bow and arrows at the ready. Although highly skilled in combat, Tauriel wasn't equipped to outfight twelve of her own kin, and the startling realisation of _who_ she was fighting against cost her the initial advantage in hearing their approach.

Disoriented, and thoroughly confused by the appearance of Elven guards in these parts, Tauriel found herself swiftly overrun and dragged away from her camp under the cover of darkness, into the thickest parts of the forest where she could no longer see the stars.

_Perhaps...at last...I'm to meet my end._

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><p><strong><span>Elvish Translations<span>:**

_**Elleth = Female Elf**_

_**Ada = Daddy**_

_**Lonneg = My son**_

_**Nana = Mommy**_

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><p><strong><span>AN #2: Here we go! **

**I was anxious to get this posted, but I'll be working to try to post new chapters about once a week, if not every other. They'll likely be longer than this, too, but we'll see.  
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**Your feedback is greatly appreciated! Please let me know your thoughts via the Review Box below. I'd love to hear from you! :) _  
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	2. Gumlaith (Weariness of Spirit)

**A/N: WOW! Thank you _so, so_ much for all your Follows, Favs, and, especially, feedback on Chapter 1! I'm thrilled to have both new and old readers alike interested in following this little tale along, so many kudos to ya'll for being here! :)**

**This chapter came together much quicker than I anticipated. However, to those unfamiliar with my work, I have a couple WIPs in play at the moment, so updates will likely be once a week (if not a bit longer) from here on. If you can bear with me and be patient, I promise to (hopefully!) make each chapter worth your while.  
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**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.  
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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Gumlaith (Weariness of Spirit)<strong>

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><p>After minutes of being manhandled by two aggressive guards, whose hands were securely coiled about her arms, Tauriel managed to break free of their excruciating confines; but, that was as far as she managed before a series of arrows were pointed at her from every direction.<p>

"I don't require your pushing and shoving to walk obediently!" she bravely snapped at them, emerald eyes aglow with suppressed uncertainty as they darted from Elven guard to Elven guard before her.

Tauriel recognised their faces, though each tried to feign their own awareness of who _she_ was. She had once trained them as their captain, and yet, she was now on the opposite end of what had once been cordial relations based upon mutual respect and regard.

Tonight, she was a mere prisoner in their cold-stone eyes; an Elleth of no particular value or importance.

"You will come with us," said the guard seemingly heading this outing, his eyes razor-edged as they stared at Tauriel like that of a stranger; he refused to lower his bow and arrow an inch, the others following his lead.

The guard's blatant lack of trust pained Tauriel to witness. Firverior, a Silvan Elf of the same rank as herself, with long, auburn hair and intensely dark eyes, had been Tauriel's friend for centuries. She considered him a trusted companion amongst their highly fighting-skilled kin; one of the best in combating the spiders of the south that had been attacking Mirkwood by the hundreds. The manner in which Firverior stared her down this night, with such displeasure and disdain in his eyes as she had never seen, was a hardship not easily withstood, and Tauriel glanced elsewhere, unable to maintain eye contact.

"On what grounds?" she challenged, her voice quickly losing its edge.

"That's between you and your king," Firverior answered stiffly, jolting Tauriel where her feet were rooted to the soil.

"I serve no king," she whispered in return, her upper lip curling with discontent.

Firverior's eyes flashed with anger and betrayal. "You're an Elf of the Woodland realm, Tauriel. You have a king, and it is to _him_ whom you shall answer."

"As I recall, I was banished by the king. I am no longer an Elf of the Woodland realm."

"Banishment does not erase one's ancestral privilege," Firverior retorted, uncompromising; at last, he lowered his bow, and the eleven guards circling Tauriel did likewise, though they kept their sharp attention on their red-haired captive.

"Why am I being summoned to the king?" Tauriel pressed, raising her hands into the air, befuddled. "I don't understand."

"As I've told you, that's a matter between you and your king." Tauriel intended to say more, but Firverior cut her off. "Come. He's awaiting our return."

With the swirling shimmer of his cloak, which caught the moonlight peaking through the trees, Firverior turned on his heel and stalked off, commanding his fellow guards to do likewise in Elvish. The two who had previously had Tauriel hostage by the arms moved in to reclaim their grasps, but she swiftly waved them off, staring them down as courageously as she was able. They drew backward, hands automatically reaching for their arrows.

"I said I can walk," she hissed between clenched teeth and walked on, finding herself immediately flanked by watchful, mistrustful Elves on all sides.

_What could King Thranduil possibly want with me now...except to, perhaps, do away with me?_

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><p>Thranduil had retreated to his private study by mid-day, determined not to be disturbed for the remainder; or, for as long as he could bargain on <em>not<em> being needed on the many matters that required his attention.

Seated at the end of a vast, elaborately carved desk of treasured oak, Thranduil finished penning a correspondence to a friend abroad, whose own written message to the Elven king had carried worrisome rumours; gossip that began in the east, quickly passing through Mirkwood and beyond.

Thranduil sat back in his oversized chair to ponder these angst-filled whispers; poisonous hearsay that would only ravage and corrupt Middle-earth's inhabitants, if they allowed it to consume them.

The supposed coming of a Second Darkness—hell-bent on plunging Middle-earth into Sauron's servitude—wasn't exactly new information. Every faint rumour that spread on the wind was deeper cause for concern, however.

_Worthless gossip_, the collected ruler in Thranduil insisted to those who looked to him for council and strength. Inwardly, the rumours troubled him greatly, however, and not simply because the terrible inkling of such a coming had afflicted his soul for many, many moons but because...

_My son is out there._

There was little doubting that Legolas would see fit to join the burdensome, trying battles of Middle-earth that lay ahead. By now, he had surely secured the whereabouts of Aragorn—at Thranduil's suggestion before their parting—and, if what Lord Elrond had once told him in confidence was true, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, would eventually be persuaded to turn from his path of exile and take his rightful place amongst his people.

_Or so we can only hope._

His son would naturally wish to see such a prevail for Men as much as any other Elf in the kingdom, Thranduil included. It wouldn't be in Legolas's good nature to turn his back on those in need of help, either, particularly when the fate of Middle-earth was at stake.

_No... He won't stop until he sees this world's greatest hopes fulfilled._

Thranduil wished the same for Middle-earth, of course, but, unlike the Elven prince, it would not come at the expense of more bloodshed from his kin. _No._ He had witnessed too much needless death, heinous destruction, and crippling despair to forsake his people's lives one more time. Too many had been slaughtered at the Battle of the Five Armies, and at wars raged before then. The many Elves Thranduil had witnessed fall at the foot of the Lonely Mountain was, for their king, the final straw.

_No more._

If only his son had understood the extraordinary difficulties of kingship, of protecting one's people, and of having so much blood on his hands—and marked on his shattered soul—for the rest of eternity.

_If only..._

Perhaps then Legolas wouldn't have looked upon him as he had the day he left: with disappointment and disdain.

Thranduil was well-aware of how others had misconstrued his image, referring to him as nothing more than an 'opportunist', 'heartless' and 'self-serving'. It was the price a protective king paid in order to defend what was rightfully his. For Thranduil, that was and always would be Mirkwood and all his faithful kin who dwelled therein. His impassioned wish to keep their way of life secure was of the utmost importance, ever since he had come to rule the Woodland realm thousands of years ago.

It was onerous to try to persuade those who opposed his way of thinking—and manner of ruling—to his position and outlook on Sauron and his endless thirst for power. That outspoken former captain of his and, later, Legolas had proven two of his most strident opponents on such matters. Not in all regards, but in many.

Still, the rationale to not spill anymore immortal blood for the sake of Middle-earth's perilous cause remained Thranduil's unyielding stance, no matter what his son—and others like the forthright Tauriel—opined to the contrary.

_If only they could understand. If only they'd seen what _I_'ve seen..._

With a graceful air, Thranduil rose from his chair and roamed about the grand room, decorated in splendid carvings of old and personal trinkets that reminded him of memories past, painful as they may be: a fancy, golden box containing the magnificent white stones Thranduil had gifted to his late wife, later returned to him by the Dwarves; ancient tomes filled with the glorious tales of their people, which he had often read to Legolas as a child, much to the prince's delight; crystal broaches once worn by the brave warriors of his kin, who had fought alongside their king and died defending him. Thranduil kept every fallen Elf's broach as a sore reminder of their great sacrifice: the stripping of their immortal life.

Thranduil halted before the large wooden chest that contained these broaches and carefully opened the lid. The chest was near overflowing with the majestic symbol of Mirkwood—of Elves past slain—and the overwhelming amount wrenched at his heart. They had all been his soldiers once, and that of his father's—every single one—and all that was left of them now was a crystal series of branches.

_So senseless. So reprehensible._

Thranduil cast the lid shut at the loud knocking upon his study door. He commanded whoever it was to enter in Elvish, and one of his head guards normally stationed at the front gates came marching in, looking quite shaken.

"Hîr vuin," greeted the Silvan guard, respectfully bowing his head as Thranduil turned to him, waiting on an explanation for the intrusion, "I've come to report that Firverior and the others have returned."

"And?" Thranduil demanded, waiting patiently.

"They tracked that pack of Orcs as far as the outskirts of Éothéod, but they came upon something else; some_one_ Firverior thought should be brought to your attention at once."

Thranduil quietly stepped closer, his movements slow and steady, arms woven behind his back. "What did he find, Berialagoswen?"

The guard named Berialagoswen's eyes lowered a fraction as he replied, "Tauriel, my Lord."

The king's blue irises flickered and the muscles in his face tightened, as if he were coiling in on himself to keep his self-control in check. His calm demeanour bordered on morphing into action, seemingly torn between maintaining coolness or allowing the rankling ire over the sour subject of his one-time captain to manifest and take charge.

Ultimately, he settled for coolness.

Berialagoswen remained perfectly still, silently awaiting his king's order. Thranduil had ceased inching towards him, his ruby red robes casting a dangerous shimmer against the pearls of starlight pouring into his study.

"Bring her to me," he commanded after a tense-filled silence. "Now."

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><p>By the time they reached the front gates of Mirkwood, Tauriel was no longer fazed by the ill reception she was bestowed upon by the two Elves standing guard, Berialagoswen and Lainos, though their shock at encountering her puzzled her greatly.<p>

_Odd_, she wondered as she breezed past Lainos, who eyed her as though she had lost all Elven attributes. _If the king gave the order to hunt me down, wouldn't everyone have been informed of it?_

"Wait here," Berialagoswen commanded to the lot of them and hastily disappeared to inform King Thranduil of her arrival.

Tauriel sighed, irritated at being so in the dark, but took the quiet opportunity afforded to her to look upon the entrance to the intimate refuge she had once called home.

The ancient oaks were healthy-looking and resplendent still, their vibrant foliage marking the beginning of autumn and flecked with blazing blood-reds and fiery golds unlike any one could find elsewhere in Middle-earth. The well-remembered sight squeezed Tauriel's heart in two.

How deeply she had missed the Mirkwood forest, despite so many foreign glimpses to the outside world provided to her since abruptly leaving home over a year ago. Returning after such an extended absence should have been welcoming and warm, but breathing in the crisp, autumn air tonight filled Tauriel's soul with the deep-rooted yearning she had, for too long, struggled to repress: homesickness. Banishment had bridled her hopes of ever returning, particularly under happy circumstances, and such was the dispirited case this evening.

"Why Éothéod?"

The unanticipated disruption to her thoughts startled Tauriel. She turned to Firverior, who had posed the question. He stood at a distance, along with his comrades, all of whom ogled their former captain with peculiarity.

"I'm sorry?" she breathed, the beat of her heart accelerating.

"Why so close?" he pressed her quietly. "Aren't there other realms you might have found less...painful to take shelter?"

Tauriel forced an impassive raise of her chin. "Yes," she answered him simply, careful to keep any emotion out of her response, "but the reminders would still be...inescapable."

Firverior cocked his head sideways, not following. "'Inescapable'?" he repeated, seeking clarity.

Tauriel offered only a contrived smile. "Grief will follow no matter where one seeks to hide from her."

Slowly, Firverior nodded, understanding finally crossing his fair face. "And Mirkwood?" he inquired after a short pause, to which Tauriel stretched her mannered smile farther.

"It's still home to me, even if I can no longer refer to it as such by name."

"King Thranduil will see you now."

Berialagoswen's sudden return to the entrance brought Tauriel's and Firverior's hushed conversation to a close. Firverior stepped back and lowered his head, giving the matter over to his brethren.

The head guard gave a curt toss of his head and Tauriel was abruptly sided by two guards once more, one of whom pushed her rather forcefully to follow Berialagoswen's lead. Her eyes caught Firverior's as she was coerced onward to meet with the king, but, unfortunately, she discerned neither comfort nor reassurance from her friend's return stare, which was grim at best. She swallowed hard and tread the narrow, winding pathway that led to King Thranduil's study, refusing to look back. The enormous, hefty oak doors opened as they approached, with two more guards flanking its entrance.

As she stepped inside the towering space, Tauriel found herself suddenly face to face with her king, who was seated in a wooden chair off to the right. The moonlight trickling into the study cast fragments of sharp light against his otherwise tall, darkened figure, the scenery at his back a dramatic view of the wondrous night sky, just visible between Mirkwood's high trees. Upon his head Thranduil donned his ornately decorative crown of thorns and berries in annual homage to the harvest season; but, there was nothing warm in his hardened face that Tauriel recognised. His stare was cold and unfriendly, his rigid body language, despite being seated, serving his reputation as the intimidating Elven ruler Tauriel well remembered.

In all her six hundred years of life and service, Tauriel had rarely been afraid of her king, only uneasy at times that Thranduil invoked his wrath, speaking in such an eerily quiet fashion that even his son would grow nervous and uncertain of his intentions. For the first time on this chilly evening, however, she _was_ truly frightened. Her inclination immediately was to bow, despite the fact that she no longer served him, so she hurriedly lowered her head, shifting her eyes from such intense eye contact.

For an excruciating moment that seemed to last for an age, Thranduil said nothing in return, merely made a calculated study of her person with his eyes. Tauriel could hear her breath stiffen and the hastening beat of her heart against her chest; she tried to keep still.

"Hîr vuin," she addressed him softly, respectfully, with a certain ache in her voice.

"Tauriel," Thranduil, at last, greeted her, though without any hint of affection. "What a surprise this is."

Cautiously, Tauriel raised her head, increasingly perplexed by the strange events that had brought her here. "Is it?" she inquired hesitantly, narrowing her eyes up at him. "Did you not send your guards after me tonight?"

"After you?" Thranduil's response was indifferent. "Of course not. Don't be absurd. I banished you from this realm many moons ago. Why would I seek to hunt you down now?"

"I don't know. You tell me, my Lord," she added, wishing to get to the bottom of this confusion but without spurring Thranduil to anger.

Alas, an ominous upward curl materialised at the corner of Thranduil's mouth that didn't put Tauriel at ease. His eyes then darted to Berialagoswen and the two guards still holding her firmly by the arms.

"Leave us," he demanded of their company, and Tauriel heard their footsteps retreat, the heavy doors soon closing her in with an overwhelming-sounding echo. Her heart pounded faster still, her agitation increasing now that she and Thranduil were completely alone.

Thranduil wasted little time continuing to study her at a distance. He rose agilely from his chair and approached the disloyal Elleth as a fierce lion stalks its prey: deliberately, wilfully, eyes rooted to the catch.

Tauriel was quickly engulfed in the king's shadow, unhinged by the near empty void she discovered in those radiant blue eyes. It caused her to shrink in his presence, though only just.

"Do you have a death wish, Tauriel?"

Tauriel reared back, perturbed by such an odd question. "My Lord?"

"A pack of Orcs were spotted to the north not four days past. They weren't far from where you reportedly made camp. Dare I ask, were you waiting for them to happen upon your tent and take you out?"

"I..."

"_Do speak up_," Thranduil hissed with such aggression that Tauriel started. "As I recall, you had no trouble speaking your mind to me in the past."

Tauriel blushed but managed to find her voice. "No, I wasn't waiting to be found, my Lord."

"_Really_?"

His voice dripped with mockery, making Tauriel fluster. "I don't know why you'd insinuate that I'd do such a thing, my Lord, but, I can assure you—"

"That you've become so consumed by your own grief that you would willingly put your life at stake, just to be rid of it?" Thranduil sought to challenge her, staring Tauriel down heatedly, though he never raised his voice. "Yes, I _would_ insinuate such a disappointing action possible on your part, Tauriel. Am I wrong to believe that you still grieve the loss of that...Dwarf?"

Tauriel could feel her cheeks burning with indignation, a mixture of rage and humiliation now marring her pretty features. The way her king spoke so distastefully of Kíli, without referring to him by name or with a shred of thoughtful consideration, gutted her. She hadn't an inkling where such a fiery, false accusation of attempted self-destruction was coming from, either—perhaps she had become the subject of ridicule by Thranduil and her people in her absence—but she was determined to set the king straight, if he would allow her.

"My Lord," she insisted, struggling to keep calm, "I've had no intention of hurting myself these past many months."

The harshness in Thranduil's face did not waver, however. "I'm not convinced," came his terse reply.

"I honestly had no idea Orcs were that close—"

"_Then, for goodness's sake, Tauriel, be sensible_!" His uncharacteristic outburst took her aback, enough to cause her knees to wobble. "I took you to be perceptive and wise once. Do not force me to lament yet another wrong."

The intensity between them abruptly stilled and Thranduil quickly turned away from her, his refined robes thrashing and waving about with furious flair. He sought refuge in his chair again, half of his pale face submerging into the shadows.

Tauriel looked on, unsettled, yet unable to glance away. "I... I do apologise, my Lord," she found herself softly begging his pardon. "I hadn't given much thought to running into Orcs in those parts. I will be more mindful in the future."

Thranduil did not respond. He simply stared at Tauriel long and hard, unmoving, compelling her to try to fill the uncomfortable silence.

"I still don't understand _why_ I've been brought here."

Slowly, Thranduil answered, "I never gave the order to retrieve you." At Tauriel's visual befuddlement, he continued, "I sent Firverior and a handful of our guards out to hunt down the whereabouts of these Orcs. He happened upon your camp and was right to take you under his charge and bring you here for safekeeping. You could have been killed out there, Tauriel. Have you lost all sense of reason?"

The gnawing vexation in the Elven king had returned, but Tauriel took a deep breath and centred her emotions. "I told you, I didn't know—"

"A lazy excuse for incompetence."

Before Tauriel could fire back a retort, Thranduil was on his feet once more, the cutting lights and shadows outlining his face urging her back a step. He hadn't advanced on her, and yet, his slightly hunched forward stance suggested that he might very well do so.

"You shall remain here."

"What?" Tauriel's green eyes widened in shock. "But, I—"

"At least until these Orcs have been hunted down and dealt with. You cannot be trusted to linger on your own."

"But, my Lord, I've been banished from these woods. You said so yourself..."

Tauriel hated how simpleminded her remark sounded, and yet, it _was_ the plain truth. Why would King Thranduil suddenly show a change of heart and express his concern—albeit, marginally—for her welfare when she was, to him, a traitor to the realm? It hadn't been all that long ago that she had pointed an arrow at his face and threatened to kill him, after all.

_Now he wants me to...stay?_

Much to Tauriel's bafflement, Thranduil called in Elvish to the guards outside the door to return, waiting on them to reemerge before he stalked up to her, his bright eyes boring vigorously into hers. Tauriel's breath stilled, her wary gaze locked on his.

"Consider your exile lifted," he told her; he then brushed past Tauriel to order the guards to escort her to a bedchamber, but she wasn't really taking in anything but the king's shocking pardon. He turned around to face her bewildered countenance one last time, and, when their eyes met, he added a smug, "For now," to his withdrawal before he took his leave.

Tauriel watched in stunned silence as Thranduil glided away, his flowing, golden hair barely moving against his back and his silhouette made more impressive by the outline of his extravagant crown. Even from behind, he appeared as ominous as ever, and yet...

_I'm no longer banished?_

The two guards didn't try to manhandle Tauriel this time as they led their one-time captain away without a word. Even had they displayed less tact, Tauriel wouldn't have been able to focus much on their mistreatment, though, for she was too dumbfounded to find herself back in Mirkwood, her banishment unexpectedly revoked, and two of her kin leading her to a bedroom where she would surely receive a large, warm bed to crawl into.

_Perhaps this isn't the end, after all..._

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><p><strong><span>Elvish Translations<span>:**

_**Hîr vuin = Beloved lord**_

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><p><strong><span>AN #2: This won't be a quick and convenient lovey, dovey coming together of our two stubborn Elves. There's a _lot_ for them to see eye to eye on first before any romance can occur.**_  
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**Please review, if you would! I'd love to hear from you!  
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	3. Amin uuma merna ta (I don't want it)

**A/N: Thank you, again, so much for the reviews left on the last chapter! I really appreciate hearing what ya'll think as we get things underway. This is just the beginning, and I have a _lot_ more planned. :) **

**I'm also much more focused on writing this story than anything else at the moment, and a _lot_ of that is because of the warm welcome I've received from so many of you. :)****  
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**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Amin uuma merna ta (I don't want it)<strong>

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><p><em>"If this is love I do not want it. Take it from me... Please..."<em>

_Those words had been so haunting, so exquisitely painful, even now._

_The harrowing sadness of which her eyes spoke was enough to bring the Elven king to his knees. He stepped forward, barely able to contain his own sorrow. How he longed to reach out and tell her then that he understood her loss; that he was well-abreast of such pain and suffering; that he had mastered woe and anguish long, long ago; that the enormity of it would pass, but it wouldn't be gone entirely._

_'No, it's still too raw for her... As it is for me...'_

_So many of his great warriors had been lost today. Legolas, too, had abandoned him, probably never to return. His son had survived, only to leave. The disgruntlement on the prince's face as he turned from Thranduil that day was enough to destroy him. _

_Now, the distressful tears Tauriel shed visibly conveyed all that stirred within Thranduil's wounded heart. They echoed his immense heartache and grief; a wretched pain he couldn't disclose or share with others. Not with Tauriel._

_'Not with anyone...'_

_"Why does it hurt so much?" she suddenly choked out, bowing her head low over the Dwarf's lifeless form, tears falling freely._

_In that delicate moment, Thranduil thought of one small grain of truth he hoped might comfort Tauriel in her moment of intense mourning, though it had done little to comfort him: "Because it was real."_

_Tauriel raised her head to stare into the king's eyes. Something akin to, perhaps, hope was surfacing and fighting the sorrow, but Thranduil couldn't remain. He needed to get as far away from her—from everyone—as possible for a brief, quiet moment alone. The emotions churning inside him were threatening to overpower him at any moment, and, thus, Thranduil hurried away from the depressing scene, turning his back on a kneeling, heartbroken Tauriel, who watched her king's silent retreat, his waltz dreary and withdrawn. _

_Slowly, her eyes drew back to Kíli—so peaceful in death—and she wept all over again, unable to let go of his motionless hand._

Had he been wrong to say what he had that day? Had she thought him cruel and uncaring when, in fact, he had been trying to offer her comfort?

_Does any of it matter?_

Thranduil rested his arms against the stone barrier of his balcony, letting the brisk wind whip at his garments and cool his skin, prompting a shiver down his spine that rippled about him like a snake shedding its skin. He inhaled deeply and stared out into the plentiful woodlands that lay beyond his quarters, and at the glimpses of starlight he could discern through the dense trees and impenetrable stone barriers.

The sudden urge to walk and wander was desirable, but Thranduil forced himself to turn away from the light and return to the shadows of his room. Too many nights he had wasted roaming his underground kingdom, awake for hours and exhausting the night with his troublesome thoughts. He needed sleep.

He needed to forget.

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><p>Tauriel's eyelids fluttered awake to greet the faint sunlight penetrating the open window a few feet from her bed, its delicate rays floating into the room and streaming across her sheets. Eventually, she rolled onto her back and raised herself up onto her elbows, squinting at her unrecognisable surroundings.<p>

Last night had been the most restful sleep she had received in what felt like a millennium. It wasn't peaceful, but it _was_ still and undisturbed for a change. It had been too long since she hadn't awoken in the middle of the night (at least once or twice), recalling either Kíli's horrific death, the sickening eyesores of battle before the foot of the Lonely Mountain, where her kin, Dwarves, Men, Women and Children alike fell in massive numbers, or Legolas's mysterious leave without so much as a parting farewell.

_Yes. That rest was much needed_, she concluded, taking an appreciative moment to stretch and allow the fragments of sunlight to pour over her wherever their rays touched. She closed her eyes and inhaled several slow, even breaths before finally facing the morning—or whatever time of day it was—by climbing out of bed.

Tauriel was almost immediately driven from her private thoughts by the surprising sight of fresh garments hanging loosely over a wooden chair close to her bed. Apparently, they had been delivered sometime during the night—or in the early morning—whilst she had slept. She reached out a hand to hesitantly inspect the material: robes of soft green and silver, threaded from the finest silk, and with an underlining pale green blouse and plush shoes that ran to the knees.

Tauriel stroked her fingers over the magnificently smooth fabric, eyes blinking rapidly at the added discovery of an accompanying note. On the front, it spelled only her name in black ink. She took the note into her possession and opened it, murmuring its message aloud:

"'_Please accept these robes as a token of the king's redeemed confidence._'"

Tauriel frowned and reread the note a couple more times. A gift from the king? A memento intended to eradicate the hard-hitting fact that he had previously banished her?

_I hardly think clothing can erase the rift between us_, Tauriel scoffed dismissively as she tossed the message aside. _'Redeemed confidence'. As if I require _his_ confidence! And what a rotten method of apologising!_

With reluctance, she peered down at the note again, scrutinising it from where it now lay half-crumbled at her feet. _Is it meant to be an apology at all?_

Tauriel quickly shook her head, wishing to keep the niggling unrest in her mind at bay. Regardless of whatever convoluted action lay behind King Thranduil's message, it _was _a genteel gesture, after all; she would readily give him that. After living in such dishonourable conditions—well, deplorable for a Silvan Elf, anyway—she was rather easily swayed into ridding herself of the only somewhat smelly, stained garments she possessed.

Having been too exhausted the previous night to bathe before bed, Tauriel retreated to the room's adjoining bathroom in haste, wishing to cleanse herself before making an appearance. Her bright eyes widened at the grand scope of the space she walked in on, for it was larger and far more extravagant than her own had ever been.

Mirkwood's main river flowed through these showers, streaming without pause from the high waterfall that resided just beyond the front gates. Within its underground enclosures, however, and with the aid of Elvish magic, bath waters remained permanently warm, never frigid or so much as lukewarm.

_Finally! A proper bath!_

Tauriel eagerly disrobed what she had been too tired to slip out of the night before (mainly her loose breeches and blouse which were normally covered by her heavier set of robes), and stepped into the hot bath. Her toes instantly curled with delight at the smooth, pebbled stones imbedded in the ground beneath her feet, her fond memories recalling how much she used to enjoy extended, evening baths...

_Before I was banished._

Determined not to sour the moment with thoughts of the past, and issuing a gratifying sigh, Tauriel settled herself in the enlarged bath and sunk her head back against its stone enclosure, eyes closing. It was probably the most divine bath she had ever taken. How on earth did Men and Women bathe in such terribly cold conditions as she had been forced to for the past year? No. She wouldn't think on it. The healing powers of the river waters were working their awe and brilliance, refreshing and renewing her physically and spiritually in ways the species of Men—and Dwarves—could never comprehend.

_Wonderful..._

Tauriel lingered in the hot water for so long that it wasn't until an unexpected visitor came knocking at her door around noon that she finally emerged from her watery cave. It was Firverior, who had come to check on Tauriel and ensure that she was all right and settling in. She scrambled to make herself presentable before permitting him into her chambers, freshly dressed in the ensemble King Thranduil had given her.

"You're looking revived," her friend noted with raised eyebrows, an encouraging smile materialising on his lips.

"I _am_ feeling rather more myself this morning. Please, sit! It's been so long!"

"Indeed it has," Firverior concurred pleasantly enough; he took a seat in the wooden chair as gestured by Tauriel, whilst she perched herself on the edge of her made bed. "You've been on my mind, Tauriel. I'm so relieved to see you're safe and unharmed."

"Thanks to _you_," she pointed out, taking the opportunity to squeeze the Elf's hand in gratitude. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I appreciate you bringing me back here, Firverior."

Firverior's brow furrowed questioningly. "Really?" he put to her, sounding both relieved and taken aback.

Tauriel slightly lowered her head, her voice turning grim. "One forgets the simple luxuries of sleeping in a firm bed at night or having warm baths to take when they're reduced to...well, what my conditions have been these past many months."

"I wonder..." Firverior started and paused, peering at his former captain with sudden apprehension. "Have you _really_ wanted to come back all this time?"

"I confess, for a while, I wasn't sure I wanted to; but, I realised shortly after I left that not having a home... Not being amongst my kin... Not being _wanted_... It was all more trying on my soul than I expected it to be."

"I'm sure it was," her friend agreed, quietly surveying her for a thoughtful pause. "Is it true that you...fell in love?"

Tauriel's eyes sharpened as they met his, though they softened as she sought to compose herself before answering, "Yes, I did."

"With a...Dwarf?"

Disgruntled by the overt judgement she detected in Firverior's disbelieving inquiry, Tauriel remained still, emerald eyes cooling the longer they bore into her friend's. "His name was Kíli, and, _yes_, he was a Dwarf. A very brave one, I might add."

Firverior quickly bowed his head to momentarily avoid eye contact, his cheeks radiating more colour than usual. "I'm sure he was," he tried to offer considerately, once he was certain Tauriel wasn't going to reach across the gap between them and smack him upside the head. "My condolences for your loss and grief, Tauriel."

"Thank you," she managed rather breathlessly, trying not to tear up on the spot; she was grateful when Firverior changed the topic.

"Will you stay now that your banishment has been lifted?"

Tauriel shrugged. "I'm not certain. I can hardly expect the king will _want_ me to stay."

Firverior shot the proud Elleth a confused frown. "But, if he revoked your banishment, then surely he _will _wish that?"

"He said my banishment was lifted for the time being."

"'For the time being'?"

"Until the Orcs are found, at least. Beyond that, he wouldn't say."

"Well, we could really use you at the head again, Tauriel," Firverior pressed in all seriousness. "More spiders are fortifying their nests outside our walls. I fear we may be overrun soon without outside aid."

"Can't the king simply send out more of you at a time to combat them?"

"Since the end of the battle at the Lonely Mountain, King Thranduil has ordered the majority of us to remain within these walls at all times. No one's to venture into the forest alone anymore, and we're prohibited from ever leaving at night."

"It's grown _that_ bad?" Tauriel asked, eyes widening in concern.

Firverior returned her question with an earnest nod. "We slaughtered more than two-dozen while en route to Éothéod. If you decide to stay, I dare say you'll see for yourself how badly the forest has been overrun by those foul beasts."

Tauriel straightened and shook her head, dismayed. "Should I remain, I doubt the king would reinstate me as Captain of the Guard, Firverior."

"Why not?" her friend challenged, to which Tauriel scrutinised him at length before replying.

"Because I disobeyed his order that I return to Mirkwood, Firverior, and then I challenged him on the battlefield before our own legions; our people."

Firverior's brief recoil spoke as much of his awareness on _that_ supposedly controversial subject. It was difficult to discern whether he approved or disapproved of her actions, however, until he spoke in a softer tone.

"That was unwise of you, Tauriel."

"I was no longer his captain," Tauriel retorted defensively. "I was free to make my own choices then, and I wasn't about to allow him to flee and abandon all those who were in so desperate need of our help! Not if I could prevent him from doing so!"

"So you thought that by defying the king—a great Elf thousands of years older than you, and far more skilled and trained in the practice of combat—and by pointing an arrow at his person, that _that_ would stop him in his tracks?"

Tauriel flushed, initially unable to form a coherent thought. "Well, I...! Well, when you put it like _that_..." she finally grumbled irritably, prompting Firverior to chance a smirk.

"You're daring, Tauriel; of_ that_ I'm certain."

This time, Tauriel's blush was far less indignant. "Daring enough to defy the king when he's very much in the wrong?"

Firverior's humoured smile slipped. "Tauriel..."

"If King Thranduil refuses to change from this unhealthy path of locking himself—and us—away, thinking that _that_ will somehow keep us from experiencing the rest of the world's ruin, we'll be as doomed as the poor, innocent souls living beyond our borders. When the world succumbs to darkness, so shall we."

"We don't know that—"

"Yes, you _do_, Firverior," Tauriel urged her friend, speaking now with fervour. "Surely, you _must_."

After resettling himself in his chair, Firverior reluctantly cleared his throat and eyed Tauriel more critically. "King Thranduil has never led us astray. I wish you'd exercise more faith in him, Tauriel."

"This isn't about lack of faith, Firverior; it's about lack of _reason_!"

"You best watch that sharp tongue of yours in his presence, do you hear me?"

"Or what," Tauriel huffed and scooted forward, "I'll be banished from the realm a second time?" Firverior's face deflated, leaving Tauriel thinking she held the upper hand. "You forget, mellon nîn, I've been down the path of exile before, and I wouldn't hesitate to walk it again if it meant being able to speak my truth."

"Tauriel, _please_, I implore you, don't incur the king's wrath. Not again."

Tauriel's eyes narrowed considerably, however. "If I'm the only one willing to challenge his decisions which affect us _all _then I must be permitted to do what my conscience deems to be right."

Firverior issued a defeated sigh and rose to his feet, peering down at the fiery Elleth still seated on her bed with growing despondence. "Then, at the very least, exercise caution, won't you?" he pleaded quietly. "The king is not himself."

Tauriel reared back, startled by those words. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's not been himself. Not since..."

"Yes?"

Firverior's expression tightened. "Since his son left."

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><p>"<em>Ada, c<em>_an we name her?"_

"_Of course, ionneg," replied Thranduil affectionately, a gentle smile tugging at his lips; he reached out to lightly rub his hand over the elk's large snout and the magnificent beast gave a throaty appreciation. "What would you like to call her?"_

_A young Legolas, crouched atop the broad elk's back, pondered this decision for some time, his dainty features scrunched together in concentration. At last, his blue eyes lit up with a possibility._

"_Melda!" he exclaimed._

_Thranduil eyed the enthusiastic prince curiously, considerately. "And why Melda?"_

"_Because we love her, Ada! And she's strong!" _

_Legolas draped himself effortlessly across the elk's spine and proceeded to stroke its side. Its head tilted towards the weightless young Elf, its enormous antlers swaying beneath the tall trees and catching warm rays of light. _*****_  
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"_Indeed," Thranduil conceded as he thoughtfully appraised the new familiar, "she _is _strong." He bowed his head of golden hair respectfully. "Melda it is. She shall be our new deliverer; our new companion when treading these woods."_

"_She's so gentle, Ada, and less grumpy than Tawarthion."_

"_Yes, she is, isn't she?" Thranduil watched his son, amused as the prince appeared to be falling asleep, for his eyes had closed and his petting slowed. "And she'll continue to be as long as we treat her well, yes?"_

"_Yes, Ada."_

"_And why must we treat all creatures of the Woodland realm with respect?"_

"_Because they're family," Legolas replied through a stifled yawn, sounding as though he had been asked to repeat such an answer many times before. "Because the forest and everything in it is a part of our family."_

"_That's right, lonneg."_

_Legolas's breathing deepened, his arm falling loose at his side. Thranduil reached out to carefully grasp the Elf's little hand in his, and Legolas didn't stir. _

_Thranduil stared the elk sternly in the eyes. There appeared to be an unwritten understanding between creature and Elf; some unspoken language that allowed the two to communicate._

"_Lead us home, Melda," he instructed in Elvish, and the elk gave a soft, low moan. _

_Melda began the march back to the gates of Mirkwood, little Legolas sleeping aboard her whilst the king strolled along on foot, the company of three moving together in perfect harmony._

A sudden flutter of movement coming from the corner of his eye brought Thranduil's attention back into focus. He casually turned his head, aware that, despite appearances, he was no longer alone with his thoughts.

"I know you're there," he whispered without fear or concern, fierce blue eyes waiting patiently for something—some_one_—to materialise. "Why do you insist on hiding from me?"

A short pause later, "Forgive me, my Lord, I... I didn't wish to disturb you."

A sheepish Tauriel emerged from behind a stone pillar, looking both apologetic and more radiant than she had appeared yesterday upon her arrival. She had clearly bathed and was well-rested, at least. The soft-palette robes he had had sent to her room were fitting and attractive against her flowing, intricately braided red hair, and there was a healthy glow to her complexion that had been virtually non-existent when he had last seen her.

Tauriel's gaze shifted uncomfortably, however, at having come into contact with the Elven king in the midst of a quiet mediation, and she seemed uncertain as to where to rest her eyes.

Thranduil stared at his former captain a long moment, his composed expression untelling. Then he resumed his attention elsewhere, staring, instead, straight ahead at a gleaming sort of monument with apparent Elvish names etched elegantly into the carved rock. He had been taking in its pleasant recollections for some time now, until his memories were sorely interrupted.

_By her._

"I shall go, my Lord," Tauriel suddenly piped up, her voice nearly too soft to be heard.

Thranduil directed his gaze towards the retreating Elleth again, and his response was commanding when he uttered, "What's your hurry?"

Tauriel halted in her tracks and hesitantly turned around, that same confusion from yesterday marking her brow. "I was merely strolling the grounds, my Lord. I didn't expect to run into you here..."

Thranduil's bright eyes hardened. "And that was cause for you to run from my presence?"

"No," stuttered Tauriel, finding herself flustered by what felt like an interrogation, "you just looked...preoccupied. I didn't wish to disturb you."

"That's because I _was_ preoccupied."

"Well, then, please, by all means, don't let me cause you trouble," came Tauriel's agitated reply; she stepped back several paces. "I'll just be on my way."

She quickly made to leave, not desiring to cause a fuss, but the king's next words stopped her in her tracks again. "Is it always that way with you these days?"

Tauriel whipped her head around, affronted by the question, though she didn't understand what exactly King Thranduil's disgruntlement was with her being here. Having unintentionally intruded on his privacy, she had tried to respectfully bow out, but it would seem the king wanted to goad her into an argument; or, perhaps, simply make her uneasy.

Unfortunately, he wasn't looking at her, either. Instead, Thranduil was studying the elk monument before his eyes in detail, his strong profile reflective and uncommunicative. The commemorative shrine had long ago been erected in memory of the royal family's many familiars that had passed away over the Ages, its broad carving extending well beyond the king's seated position on a stone bench.

After what felt like an eternity, Thranduil finally turned his head, and his and Tauriel's eyes met once more, their exchange intense, and yet, to Tauriel, unclear.

"Fight and flight response, is it?" he pressed; it wasn't asked with malicious intent, but there evidently wasn't any hint of kindness, either.

"I... I don't like to think so," Tauriel tried to respond tactfully, "no, my Lord."

Thranduil pursed her lips together, the silence that ensued bordering on uncomfortable, with Tauriel uncertain as to whether or not she should try to make another exit. Thus, she waited to be addressed, hands fidgeting awkwardly behind her back.

Finally, Thranduil rose and advanced towards on her, his progression graceful, yet calculated. His expression, too, was considerate this time and less critical, though Tauriel still had the strong urge to make an escape.

"Did you sleep well?" he inquired once they were finally standing before one another.

"Yes, I did, my Lord." She bowed her head slightly. "Thank you."

"And have you eaten?"

"Yes, I have."

Thranduil nodded, eyes thoughtfully appraising her, though she couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Do you require anything else at the moment? Anything you'd like brought to your room?"

Although taken aback by this unassuming gesture of hospitality by her king, Tauriel respectfully shook her head. "No, my Lord, but thank you." Her cheeks reddened a little as she peered down at her aesthetically-pleasing ensemble; her new robes was proving not only immensely comfortable but were of a richer and finer thread than she was accustomed to wearing. "And for the robes," she added in appreciation, feeling uneasy. "They're...quite beautiful."

"Do they please you?"

Tauriel angled her head. "Yes, my Lord; very much."

"Then you're welcome," he offered without feeling.

Thranduil gradually backed away from her, his sharp gaze rooting an ill-footed Tauriel to the spot, even as he fluidly turned his back.

Utterly bewildered by the strangeness of their brief interaction, Tauriel started to step forward with the intent to say something else, but the Elven king spoke faster. "I expect we shall meet again soon."

Tauriel's eyebrows came together in perplexity. _Of course_ they would come in contact again. The king had revoked her banishment, after all, and he wasn't prone to locking himself away from his people, so, surely, their paths _would_ cross again, and often. What was his underlying motive for this circle and dance number he was playing with her?

"Yes, my Lord," was all Tauriel found she could say in return without being snide.

With his back still turned and his silver robes billowing further and further away from her, Thranduil extended only one additional remark before he disappeared entirely. "I have questions for you that will need answering."

_Questions?_ Tauriel wondered peculiarly. _To_ _do with my disloyal actions on the battlefield, perhaps?_

Tauriel remained imprudently frozen in the middle of the narrow walkway long after King Thranduil had gone. The illumination stemming from the many lanterns that hung from the stone pillars intended to resemble wood had lowered upon the king's exit, making her surroundings more of a challenge to see.

Slowly, Tauriel forced her legs to move. She inched closer to the elk memorial to her right and eyed it over with thought and care. She could understand why King Thranduil might seek solace at such an isolated spot. It was well-known that he adored the many elks that had come into his service over the Ages; perhaps he had simply sought refuge here to reminisce over their individual passings.

Tauriel could recall the unique names and appearances of the varying beasts her king and Legolas, too, had ridden throughout her time in Mirkwood. As her eyes scanned the Elvish names attractively carved into the pale stone, she let out a faint moan at a new name etched near the bottom of the shrine. She tentatively crouched down and reached out a hand to trace over the precious name of Ithilwen, her chest constricting as her senses were suddenly flooded with what she could only presume might match the king's own heartbreak.

_Oh, Ithilwen..._

King Thranduil had ridden Ithilwen to the Lonely Mountain, the elk prepared to lay down its life for the king in the fight against the Dwarves and, later, the Orcs. She must have fallen sometime during the battle, though Tauriel hadn't witnessed the poor elk's demise. She could only pray it might have occurred _after_ she confronted him.

_Why? Why should you feel remorse, Tauriel? He was wrong. You know it still._

_Yes, I do..._

_So, why the sudden pang of guilt?_

Tauriel stiffened, her fingers halting upon the outline of the fallen elk's name. Eventually, she drew upright and turned her back on the majestic monument, aiming to make her way back towards the general direction of her bedchambers. She suspected she wouldn't run into King Thranduil on the way.

_This isn't about guilt_, her conscience argued; she felt more like herself again the closer she came to what had been the start of her aimless walk that afternoon. _This is about what's right and wrong. The loss of Ithilwen... The loss of Legolas... No. Be that as it may, the king has wrongs that need righting!_

_Or have you so quickly forgotten King Thranduil's cold heart? _

Tauriel raised her chin defiantly as the guard stationed outside her bedroom nodded to her with respect, greeting her return. She stepped inside and gestured for him to close the door behind her without a word.

_The king wants to question me? Well, I have a few questions to pose to _him _as well._

* * *

><p><strong>* Although female elks don't have antlers, considering Peter Jackson's depiction of them in <em>The Hobbit<em> isn't realistic, I'm not going for realism, either.**

**A/N #2: I smell trouble...**


	4. Lle rangwa amin? (Do you understand me?)

**A/N: I know I've been consistent with these updates so far, but, erm, please don't come to expect updates to be this timely every week, OK? I _do_ have other stories I'm working on, too (and desperately need to update! _I know, I know!_).  
><strong>

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Lle rangwa amin? (Do you understand me?)<br>**

* * *

><p>Tauriel's first few days back home proved restless and uneventful. The spirited Elleth found herself increasingly questioning whether she should stick around or be on her not-so-merry way. (Not that she desired to return to the former misery that had been relentless isolation, but, if there was one thing Tauriel couldn't bear, it was being made to feel utterly useless.) She craved to be of service to her fellow kin in <em>some<em> capacity again—at least, to the guards, many of whom had been her dear friends once, though they now mostly went about ignoring her existence.

_Except for Firverior..._

She was grateful to have still found one friend in him amongst her kind. Even if she would never again be permitted to become their captain, and she certainly wasn't holding out much hope of that happening, Tauriel would have liked to serve the kingdom that was still her home.

Every glimpse of her friends' comings and goings from the front gates twisted the dagger a little deeper in her heart. Tauriel suspected those who left at daybreak would be searching the forests until nightfall, attempting to kill as many spiders as possible, those gruesome creatures who had long ago began poisoning and sickening so much of their precious woodlands that the outskirts of Mirkwood was an unrecognisable wilderness today.

The pervasive invasion of the spiders was all the more imperative to Tauriel to make herself useful by, perhaps, helping to put a stop to the very beasts who regularly assaulted their lands. She wrestled with the idea for days, growing evermore agitated by the hour. Whilst she twiddled her thumbs and sought to occupy her time, her kin were out there fighting for the continuation of their very existence.

_You could always run this proposal by the king, you know..._

Tauriel rolled her eyes each time that unnerving thought entered her mind.

For the time being, she would simply resume her mindless stroll of the kingdom, unsure of where she belonged or how she might fit in. She wasn't even sure where she found herself wandering off to most of the time, but that hardly concerned her. Her dull days had been much the same since her arrival: aimless strolls through long, torch-lit corridors and winding staircases, their point unfulfilling and leaving the quiet yearn in her heart to fester and deepen.

With a frustrated huff, Tauriel tore off in the opposite direction from whence she had come. This wasn't healthy _or_ productive. Having too much time on her hands to think, to reflect...

_To remember Kíli..._

Well, it wasn't beneficial.

Tauriel's determined march slowed to a walk. For days, she had managed to keep the grief from swallowing her whole. In fact, her reeling thoughts of late had been drawn elsewhere—to someone _else_ instead—and, so, Tauriel had welcomed the change. After all, pondering and dissecting King Thranduil's behaviour seemed a more constructive alternative to staying in bed and sobbing repeatedly into her pillow.

It was comforting, in fact, just to have something else to focus her attention on, so Tauriel pursued the sensitive subject of her king readily. She hadn't happened upon him again since their strange encounter before the elks' monument some five days prior, and, having expected to be called upon at some point since, Tauriel was quite surprised that no invitation from the king had come her way.

What was he waiting for? Was King Thranduil expecting Tauriel to simply go about the rest of her days in Mirkwood playing the part of the invaluable, invisible demoted captain? To have her person be forever marked amongst their people as a traitor to the realm?

_I should hope not_, Tauriel considered apprehensively, a slight frown materialising on her face.

Tauriel had been in Mirkwood for nearly a week with no invitation from the king and no orders given for how to spend her time. Sure, that span didn't constitute for as much as a blink in the daily life of an Elf, but, unlike most patient, even-tempered Elves, Tauriel was losing her patience, and quickly, too. She hadn't expected her circumstances to change overnight, of course, but she_ had_ expected to have had an audience with her king by now, at the very least. Too many long hours spent processing her grief and worthlessness wasn't exactly more gratifying than the year of banishment she had been forced into.

Tauriel's pace increased again, the fire in her step pushing her onward—against her sorrow, against her anguish._ Something_ has _to give, and soon!_

* * *

><p><em>Mid-day<em>, Thranduil thought, squinting his eyes as he peered out at his empty balcony. A gentle autumn breeze drifted through his bedchambers, fingering through his hair and lazily gracing his exposed neck. _Must. Get. Up._

Issuing a small, protesting groan, Thranduil lifted himself out of bed—pale and naked and uncharacteristically dishevelled—and stepped into his dressing room, eyelids half closed and protesting the soft light that greeted him.

If he wasn't the ruddy King of Mirkwood, he would have gladly returned to bed for the remainder of the afternoon; for the rest of the day, in fact. Perhaps he could spend that free time rereading the tale of the coming of the dragons of the north—_One of Legolas's favourites..._—or taken his time in answering the handful of correspondences that remained unopened and unread on top his dresser, collecting dust and debris.

_Or you could simply skip all that rubbish and drink your cares away..._

_That_ was always the most agreeable late-night option, but it would have to wait, unfortunately. There had been more than a dozen unwanted disruptions to Thranduil's solitude since the sun began to rise early that morning. If he didn't turn up amongst his people, and soon, he might very well see a few of his most trusted kinsmen breaking down his door, wrongfully believing something dreadful had become of their king.

_That wouldn't be so unwanted, would it? Certainly not by me._

Thranduil shook off that inconvenient thought long enough to dress himself appropriately, stepping into finely cut, forest green robes trimmed in ivory and silver. Upon his head he chose for the day a thin but intricate, matching silver crown.

Without passing a second glance over his reflection in a mirror, Thranduil reluctantly exited the sanctuary of his bedchambers to join those who were demanding his council. The same two guards from the night before were still stationed outside his room and, at once, were relieved of their duties to go rest. Thranduil had little doubt they had both been passing along his stern wish not to be disturbed to more individuals than he cared to estimate.

"The king is not seeing anyone at this time," he had heard them inform several of those who had pressed their requests for an audience.

"But, it's urgent!" many had insisted; thankfully, the king's guards didn't budge, and Thranduil was able to retreat further into his mound of comfortable pillows without a grumbling word.

Thranduil was now only a short distance from his quarters when a bombardment of Elves suddenly swarmed in upon him. Each had been awaiting the king's presence to relay their grievances and concerns for hours, and yet, Thranduil glided by them without giving pause for reaction, waving them forward with his hand in the air and beckoning the crowd to follow his lead.

_If only I could be left permanently alone_, he bemoaned his permanent circumstance in silence; he would remind himself, of course, as he always did, that hiding from his responsibilities was futile. _Whether you wish it or not, you're a king, Thranduil. For goodness's sake, act like one._

Whatever personal hardships came his way—and there had been many gut-wrenching blows Thranduil couldn't bring himself to speak on—life in Mirkwood went on in its usual quiet fashion, and the Elven king would endure whatever political, financial, or societal strife came about that called for his attention, in addition to his own difficulties, without a gripe or a complaint issued aloud. To anyone.

Thranduil's subsequent heavy sigh shuddered through his body like a smouldering fire. The series of soft footsteps trailing behind him, each individual undoubtedly wishing to speak before the other, made his want to merge with the stone beneath his feet and disappear an unrealistic conclusion.

Alas, he pressed on, leading the way to his council room where he would receive their dreadful opines one by one, his hard expression conveying his lack of enthusiasm for their company_ or_ to provide the listening ear his people desired of him.

Thranduil was met at the large oak doors by his long-time secretary, Lathron, an ancient Elf who had been by the king's side through many trials, as far back as the Second Age when he had first become king in his father's stead. In his hands, Lathron carried a quill and an empty scroll for taking notes on Thranduil's behalf. He didn't look at all displeased or even concerned by the king's tardiness, though his beady eyes might have suggested otherwise.

Together, Thranduil and his secretary stalked into the council room, Lathron informing the king's flock as to where they should sit. An enormous, rectangular-shaped table filled much of the space, with Thranduil taking the high chair at the far end. It was evident to all who were present that the king was rather displeased with this impromptu meeting of theirs, but his body language also suggested exceptional patience, like always.

After everyone was properly seated, Lathron joined the king at his side, and Thranduil, now cradling his chin in his palm, made a curt wave of his opposite hand, bringing the meeting to order.

"Hîr vuin," spoke a dark-haired, lanky Elf mid-way down the table, who raised a timid hand into the air, "if I may begin?"

"Please." Thranduil gestured to him with an added nod of approval.

The Elf rose to his feet, brown eyes sweeping the company of varying aged male and female Elves amongst him, before, lastly, allowing his gaze to rest on the king, who had his attention. "Word has reached us this morning of the Orcs's whereabouts. Those who had previously trespassed over our lands have been slaughtered as of last night. However, the urgent report from our head guard claims that the Orcs weren't alone and, supposedly, are travelling in numbers far greater than we had initially believed."

Thranduil's crystal blue eyes sharpened. "And have we made contact with any other groups?"

"Not as of yet, my Lord."

"Then send word to recall our troops. The less Elven blood spilt in tracking these worthless fiends, the better."

"Hîr vuin?" inserted a questioning, blonde-haired Elleth seated closer to Thranduil's left, her confused eyes speaking for the group as a whole.

"My instincts tell me that tracking these Orcs any further than Éothéod would be unwise. It would be the ghoulish mindset of those creatures to drive our companies farther and farther from home; from the realm itself. It would leave Mirkwood vulnerable and more susceptible to attacks."

"I have to agree with his Lordship," opined another softly-spoken Elf, who took the liberty of bowing his head towards the king in his high chair. "This chase and catch game of theirs could very well be setting us up for a trap."

"Thank you, Anessen," offered Thranduil in return, speaking with frankness and assertion. "Protecting our borders and our people is of the utmost priority. I see no reason to expound more energy, resources, and troops in pursuit of the Orcs, unless they step foot onto our territory again."

"Has there been any news from our friends in Rivendell or Lothlórien, my Lord?" asked the Elf named Anessen.

"I've received no further information from Lord Elrond since the last full moon to suggest that we're in any kind of mortal danger."

"But, what of Sauron?" questioned another Elleth, her voice hushed as she uttered the dark one's name.

Thranduil's expression remained aloof. "We have nothing to fear. Sauron may still very well be alive, but he's been considerably weakened by his defeat. He will rankle and slip away; I have little doubt of it."

The worried looks from those around the table didn't sway Thranduil's stance on the matter. Very few appeared as convinced by his words that Darkness wouldn't ascend a second time as he, himself, was quite sure of.

_Or you just don't wish to believe it possible_, his conscience warned.

The Elf who had been standing inquired as he slid back into his chair, "My Lord, might I suggest we increase our forces around the outer perimeters?"

Thranduil shook his head. "I see no reason to put our guards at even greater personal risk than they've already faced patrolling the inner rims of our forest. The spiders take enough strength and numbers to control."

Although a general murmur broke out at this decision, Thranduil stood his ground, and the council fell silent, especially when he drew out of his chair to abruptly take his leave. "If there are no more pressing matters to discuss, I must beg your pardon and retire for the rest of the day."

An intense hum of activity erupted as Thranduil rushed from the room at all speed, ignoring the many shocked expressions from those he passed in his wake, some of whom seemed more baffled or even vexed than surprised by his hasty, terse termination of their meeting. It was only once he was well clear of the council room that Thranduil realised Lathron was on his heel, apparently determined to follow him all the way back to his bedchambers, if he must.

Upon reaching the end of a dark, abandoned corridor, Thranduil gave in to a halt and whipped around to face his cross secretary, one of the few in his close circle of confidants who never backed down from the disgruntled king, even when he was in one of his touchier mood.

"_What_, Lathron?" Thranduil demanded with a perturbed curl of his upper lip.

Lathron didn't acknowledge Thranduil's foul temper. Instead, he scrutinised his king considerately, pensively, before deciding on a diplomatic response.

"I think you ought to reconsider that proposal."

"And which one was that?" Thranduil challenged, letting forth some of his exasperation.

Lathron's face was grim, yet insistent. "To increase our defences at the outskirts of the forest, my Lord."

"I considered that suggestion and denied the request."

Thranduil's words were harsh and unyielding, as were the few soft lines that marked his otherwise charming-looking features. Yet Lathron appeared unfazed by the king's bewitching image. Rather, his response was to be disheartened.

"We won't endure the Darkness that's slowly spreading from the south, hîr vuin. Surely, you _must_ know this. We can't stay out of this battle. Lord Elrond has told you so."

"I have no intention to fight," Thranduil dismissed his secretary in a smug tone, prompting Lathron's brow to furrow further with caution.

"Then, might I inquire,_ what_ you intend to do about it, my Lord?"

Thranduil's gaze diverted for a fleeting moment from Lathron to a spot over the Elf's shoulder, though Lathron didn't take note of what—or _who_, rather—had briefly captured the king's attention, for his piercing eyes came back to Lathron a few seconds later and, once more, they appeared untroubled.

"That, Lathron," Thranduil answered, his deep voice slow and calculated, "I will take my leave to ponder in private, provided you'll allow me to do so?"

Lathron's jaw tightened but he conceded with a swift bow. "Of course, my Lord. As you wish."

Thranduil gave his trailing robes a cutting thrash against the floor before he started towards a descending staircase. With his back turned, he halted before the steps and declared over his shoulder, "Oh, and another thing..."

Lathron blinked. "Yes, my Lord?"

Thranduil half turned his head, his angular profile controlled and his chin slightly raised. "Have Berialagoswen summon Tauriel to meet with me this evening. At nightfall."

With another perplexed blink, Lathron practically bowed in half as the king started to amble away. "Certainly, my Lord."

The secretary never heard the Elleth in question trip over the curve of a stone stump as she made to stumble away in haste, not wishing to be caught.

* * *

><p>"Has the king expressed why he's asked for me?"<p>

"No, my lady."

"But, surely, there _must_ be a reason?"

Berialagoswen turned to Tauriel casually, his expression offering her no solution or sympathy. "If there is, my lady, I know not," he answered, and Tauriel knew the guard's response was sincere.

Still, Tauriel didn't like this. _Not one bit._

As much as she had been hoping for the past several days to obtain an audience with the king, after unexpectedly stumbling upon King Thranduil and his secretary in a heated argument over Mirkwood's security earlier that day, Tauriel now had viable reason for misgivings. The king had caught her lurking in the shadows, for starters, and, undoubtedly, he wasn't pleased to discover her listening in on what was supposed to be a private conversation. She suspected that that was why he had asked her to meet with him.

_Probably to reprimand me further for being a curious fool._ Tauriel frowned as they took off in another direction rather than where the king normally dined, uncertain of where they were going. _Why did you have to linger, Tauriel? Why didn't you just keep walking like any other normal Elf? You_ know _curiosity has a track record for getting you in trouble!_

_...That, and your big mouth._

Tauriel swallowed hard and attempted to placate her nerves, reminding herself that she had nothing to fear from King Thranduil. Yes, he was intimidating—he always had been for the some six hundred years she had known him—but he had never, ever shown any indication of hurting her.

_Unless you count his cutting your bow in half and then touching the tip of his sword to your chest a year ago..._

Tauriel rid her mind of _that_ grim reality as fast as she could. She may not have agreed with her king, and indeed thought him to be rather heartless at times, but even she couldn't deny his reasoning for attacking her back. She had threatened him first, after all, and expecting the king to do nothing in return would have been ridiculous, especially after being lectured to in front of his people.

If causing her bodily harm had been in the cards, however, Tauriel was certain that the king would have punished her the moment she stepped foot into Mirkwood territory again. So far, he hadn't threatened her or coaxed her into saying or doing anything foolish.

_So far..._

They suddenly happened upon a pair of doors Tauriel didn't recognise. Two guards were stationed outside and opened the doors for them. Berialagoswen led the way inside, with a freshly hesitant Tauriel trailing behind, suspicious eyes darting about.

The room might have been dark if not for the many torches there were lit along the stone walls. In the centre was a medium-sized pond filled to the brim with the warm waters that ran from Mirkwood's waterfall. Fish of various sizes swam about, some even flipping in and out of the water on occasion, their impulsive, light splashing capturing Tauriel's undivided attention. Her instincts brought her closer to the pond, for she wished nothing more than to watch the fish dance and play before her eyes. She smiled fondly at the remembrance of such a simple, engaging visual from her past, having not watched it with her own eyes in ages.

_Not since Legolas and I use to chase them down the river..._

A brief bit of indulgence was brought to a standstill when Berialagoswen spoke, though he didn't address Tauriel but someone else; someone Tauriel had nearly forgotten about, albeit only for a moment or two.

"Hîr vuin."

Tauriel's emerald eyes met a set of fierce blue and her heart instinctively beat faster against her chest. Those eyes she knew so well surveyed her thoughtfully, dangerously, for an agonising moment before returning to her face.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel softly acknowledged King Thranduil as well, her voice somewhat hoarse at having been caught off her guard; she bowed her head low, echoing Berialagoswen's respectful gesture.

"Thank you, Berialagoswen," the king responded, his indifferent expression evidently unchanged by the sight of her, "you may leave us."

The retreating of the guard's footsteps, followed by the loud slamming of hefty doors, left Tauriel chilled to the bone. She kept her eyes on the king, however, resolved not to let him suspect the fears prickling beneath the surface of her collected exterior.

"Thank you for coming," King Thranduil surprised Tauriel next by conveying with a certain politeness; he gestured towards a cup of wine he clasped in one hand. "Would you care for some wine?"

"I... No, but thank you. I had some with dinner."

"Then water, perhaps?"

"Thank you, that would be fine."

Thranduil turned around and strolled over to a long, narrow table containing a handful of trays, drinks, and silver goblets. He took the liberty of pouring her a glass of cold water but continued standing at a distance, extending the goblet out to her to take. Tentatively, Tauriel progressed over to him and accepted the offering, her smaller fingers lightly brushing his as she took the goblet from his hand.

The hairs on the back of her neck immediately stood on end and she froze in place. No one touched the king. No one dared. And she hadn't done so since she was young.

_It's not like I did it on purpose!_ she gulped, unawares of showcasing her shock and abhorrence at such a fumble in the king's presence.

"It's all right, Tauriel," she heard King Thranduil chuckle at her expense; he rarely laughed, so scarcely that the oddity of it probably should have frightened her, but it didn't. "And, I can assure you, your water isn't poisoned."

"I..." Tauriel was abnormally tongue-tied. "Erm, I didn't think it was..."

King Thranduil shrugged, took a slow, appreciative sip of his red wine, and walked away from her. A red-faced Tauriel followed him, making sure to keep a considerable distance between them, and was soon standing before the attractive pond once more, the faint, rippling sound of the water soothing and putting her mind at ease—a bit.

She and King Thranduil stood in silence and reflection there for some time, he, on occasion, sipping his wine and Tauriel eventually taking small tastes of her water, until the stillness became almost unbearable to withstand. She had chanced eying the king sidelong several times over, unsure of what he was contemplating as his eyes stared down into the crisp, sapphire water with an intense concentration.

"Hîr vuin," she finally chanced speaking up, her gaze uneasy as he turned to look at her, "you sent for me?"

"Yes, I did." Tauriel waited and her eyebrows rose the longer he stared without explanation. "How are you liking your return to Mirkwood?" he, at last, inquired, and the red-haired Elleth seemed taken aback by the question.

"Well enough," she settled for replying.

A gentle crease formed at the corner of Thranduil's mouth. "You don't seem at all happy."

The befuddled wrinkles lining Tauriel's brow faded. "I'm not."

"Do explain," he encouraged her without sounding as though he was egging her on. "I lifted your banishment and allowed you to return to your home. I would've thought that that would have made you happy."

"It has..." She paused before adding, "And it hasn't, my Lord. I'm grateful to be amongst my kin again, but I find my time—and presence—here to be a waste..."

"A 'waste'?"

"And a nuisance, if we're to be frank, my Lord."

"A 'nuisance'?" King Thranduil's thick eyebrows came together at a severe angle. "I wouldn't have permitted you to come back here, Tauriel, if I found your presence to be an inconvenience to me."

"Yes, my Lord," she replied, though unconvinced, and Thranduil sensed it.

"Do you wish to leave?"

A flash of panic flickered across her pallid face that didn't go amiss. "No, my Lord. I... I simply don't wish to do _nothing_ whilst I'm here is all." The king's subsequent silence and unreadable countenance as he stared down at her pressed Tauriel to continue, "I know I let you down, my Lord, and I understand that my actions on the battlefield made my banishment impossible to revoke at the time. I have no expectations of being reinstated to my former position as Captain of the Guard—"

"Nor should you," King Thranduil cut in, his tone non-biting but firm, nonetheless. "You disobeyed your king, Tauriel. You refused to return to Mirkwood as commanded, even after I sent Legolas out to summon you back. Then you had the audacity to turn on me before my own company. You pointed an arrow at your king and threatened my life, amongst a host of other wrongful claims you accused me of."

Tauriel tried not to flinch as King Thranduil relayed those unforgettable events as they had unfurled, and without holding back. She may have repeated the proceedings often enough for herself alone, but hearing her series of betrayals from the king's own lips—his voice dripping with unmitigated anger and, worse, profound disappointment—made her actions seem all the more distressing to hear, even if she still very much believed in the principles that had led to those decisions.

"So, no, you should _not_ expect such a luxury from me."

Tauriel quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks blushing a profuse red. "Yes, my Lord."

"Continue, then."

Tauriel's gaze wavered but she did her best to meet his chilling eyes. "I was going to, perhaps, ask of you, my Lord, to provide me with something productive to do? I'd like to be of use to the realm again in some capacity or other. I don't care what that might be, just as long as I have something to do besides..."

_Think about Kíli_, she wanted to blurt out but managed to stop herself.

King Thranduil kept silent for a lengthy pause, his eyes moving in a gradual circle from Tauriel to the tranquil pond and back to her again. The cutthroat ire Tauriel had perceived in those blue irises before had seemingly vanished, though she wasn't about to fall under a sense of false security yet. She had been in the presence of her king enough to reckon his unpredictability.

"Very well," he concluded, and Tauriel let out the breath she hadn't been aware of holding in. "If you wish to be useful then I shall take my chances on you one more time."

"Thank you, my Lord." Tauriel provided him with a considerable bow of appreciation.

"But, understand, Tauriel, that there will _not_ be another."

"I understand, my Lord."

King Thranduil's acute response left her slightly off kilter, however. "We shall see."

He stared at her long and hard as he guzzled the remainder of his goblet dry, though its usually delectable contents seemed to have left a dissatisfying taste in his mouth. He continued to sharply appraise her.

"You're not to make yourself privy to any private conversations I might have in the future, either. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

"My Lord," Tauriel stammered and mentally tried to brace herself, "I assure you, I wasn't trying to—"

"_Do I make myself clear_?"

Tauriel forced civility from her lips with a restrained, "Yes, my Lord."

King Thranduil nodded in satisfaction, though his gaze had hardened in a matter of seconds. "Mirkwood is no longer your playground, Tauriel. You have grown far too brash and bold these past many moons; but, I realise now that I'm partly to blame for your behaviour. For favouring and indulging you for as long as I did, I enabled you, and I never should have allowed it to continue; I should have put a stop to it long ago."

Tauriel inadvertently stepped back, as though she had received a hard blow to the chest. "My Lord, I... I honestly never meant to suggest that, by following my heart and my beliefs, I haven't appreciated all that you've done for me—"

"And I shall no longer pay you the favours I once did," King Thranduil tore right through Tauriel's quiet candour, his features as hard as stone; the result pained Tauriel deeply, but she remained still. "You will work and you will _prove_ your loyalty to this realm—and to me—or I shan't hesitate to rid you of my presence once and for all."

By the end of King Thranduil's merciless-sounding remark, Tauriel's eyes were wide as saucers and her heart was thumping twice as fast. She could feel a tremendous heat trickling up her neck and onto her face and desperately tried to ignore the strong inclinations that suggested she either retort something she would surely regret, slap her king across the face so hard that it might convey the physical ruthlessness his words had marked on her, or fall to ground and make a real mess of herself by breaking down into tears.

Tauriel opted for none of these scenarios, however. She forced herself to stare squarely into the heartless eyes of her king, the most powerful and awe-inspiring Elf she had ever known and respected, and said nothing.

"Do we understand each other now, Tauriel?" asked King Thranduil in a hushed voice, sliding nearer to her, so close that she could see her wounded reaction in his eyes.

Tauriel responded the only sensible way she could at that moment: she lied.

"Yes, my Lord."

King Thranduil turned his back on her with the same swift, scathing dismissal he had shown his secretary earlier that day. "You may go," he informed her so casually that Tauriel's cheeks burned a flaming red in response.

It took Tauriel another second or two to force her legs to move, but, once they did, she took off for the door two or three strides to her usual one, forcing herself not to turn her head or let a foul word escape her tongue until she was well clear of the king's presence.

Half-way back to her bedchambers and she was absentmindedly wiping furious tears from her eyes. _No_, her mind was screaming as she turned a corner and started up a couple steep stairs, _we_ don't _know each other! Not at all!_

_Except for one thing_, she noted as she finally reached the peaceful refuge that was her personal quarters, _there really isn't any love in my king! I thought, perhaps, I'd been wrong and misjudged him, but no! There really is_ no _love in him, after all!_

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><p><strong><span>AN #2: Well, I _did_ tell ya'll that there's a_ lot_ for these two to work through before they get all kissy, kissy on us, didn't I?  
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***points helplessly at Review Box and runs for shelter*_  
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	5. Amin lava (I yield)

**A/N: Hello! I come bearing a new chappie, and it's the longest one yet! :)  
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**Also, I'm happy to share that this story was recently rec'ed for the first time in a compiled list of Thrandiel fics supposedly worth reading! I'm super excited about this, as silly as it may sound, because it means this little story of mine has garnered some interest (at least, from those of you who are so faithfully reading and reviewing!), and, well, I'm a sap and that means an awful lot to me so... *HUGS*****  
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**OK, I'm shutting up now. Fly on, oh lovely readers!**

**EDIT: Small errors fixed roughly an hour after original posting. (Sorry! That's what I get for updating when I'm tired.)**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Amin lava (I yield)<strong>

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><p>Night had fallen over Mirkwood but the faint shimmer of the stars, barely viewable through the thick trees that reached towards the heavens above, wouldn't permit the forest's Elven king much rest or relaxation. No, there were never such luxuries as 'rest' for a king such as him. Locking himself away was preferable and consoling, but rest was a concept Thranduil hadn't mastered in an exceedingly long time.<p>

At least, Thranduil pondered as he peered gravely up to mostly obstructed skies, nightfall allowed a period to be alone with his thoughts, granting him momentary peace—however short it may be—in order to reflect and remember better days.

_So, so long ago..._

The subtle wrestling of the trees as they merged with a brisk autumn wind pricked Thranduil's sharp ears to attention, forcing his wandering mind back to the present. Mirkwood was quiet this evening, as solemn and restless as him.

Thranduil closed his eyes, letting forth a burdensome sigh few would have understood, and the soft breeze encircled him, basking his tall, rigid form—much like an anchored tree—in its shivering embrace. The king wasn't like the ancient trees of his kingdom, however. His roots had been damaged and expelled from their foundation ages ago.

_Broken. Never to be mended. Forever a shallow, empty shell._

Perhaps he had been a touch too hard on Tauriel today.

_That_ sudden consideration shot Thranduil's eyes wide open, and an unwelcoming sneer crossed his otherwise poised expression. The wind surrounding him yielded and departed.

To his treacherous captain, Thranduil hadn't expressed anything that wasn't the truth. Regardless of how she took his remarks, the spirited Elleth, who had grown up under his watchful eye, _had_, as he expressed to her that evening, grown far too bold for her own good. He understood that he was, at least, partially to blame for her dangerous, free-thinking ways, for he had been the main culprit to indulge her at one time in her youth.

_And never put a stop to it. You old fool._

Ever since an orphaned Tauriel had unexpectedly come under Thranduil's and the late queen's charge—as a mere, scrawny child with a pretty face and without a home or parental unit—the king had treated her too softly, too delicately, for how could he not?

An only child, Tauriel had lost her mother and father in a terrible bloodbath that had come about in part due to the king's political agenda. It was_ his _fault that her parents had been so senselessly slaughtered by their enemy. Therefore, didn't Tauriel deserve to be a bit spoiled, particularly after being subjected to such excruciating loss, and at such a tender young age?

That excruciating remorse, which Thranduil felt deeply for all his fallen kin, gnawed at his soul, never granting him absolute peace. So guilt-ridden was he that the king couldn't so much as bring himself to confess his shame to his wife whilst she was alive.

Thus, Thranduil tried to bury his guilt and coddled Tauriel in much the same manner as he had with his only son: he treated the redhead like royalty.

_She's long forgotten all that_, Thranduil lamented sorely in the darkness, his wounded eyes shimmering openly for no one to see. _She wouldn't remember..._

Indeed Tauriel had probably long forgotten the many times she and Legolas had sprinted into the king's personal chambers as children, after an eventful day spent sprinting through the forest or chasing after its many four-legged creatures. She had been quite delighted to see him then, and the feeling had been mutual...once. He hadn't hesitated to scoop the little orphan up into his arms, along with Legolas, and embrace them both as equals—one, his own flesh and blood, and the other, his own in every way but.

At one time, the king had, in fact, bestowed Tauriel with his heart, illustrating a warmth and affection she had since accused him of not possessing.

_No. She wouldn't remember me the way I once was. _I _hardly remember myself anymore... _

In fact, if the subdued, reflective Elf dared to dig deeper and extract those early memories from Tauriel's childhood, he might have come to admit to himself that night, and beneath the stars that bore witness, that he had loved the Elleth as if she had been one of his own.

With those large, wondrous green eyes, fiery red hair and a spitfire personality, she had easily won over the king and queen, though she later proved trying to tame—or, as it later turned out, to detach oneself from—as the years passed.

_You managed_, Thranduil firmly reminded himself, turning away from his balcony at last to retreat indoors. _You had to detach._ _It was for the best._

Thranduil's mind still reeled over Tauriel as he noiselessly went about locking his doors and shutting his windows, casting out any natural light that might invade his room otherwise, as though he needed to conserve the darkness as long as possible. It had been eons since the king had last deemed himself worthy of the moon and the stars' light, after all, and too long a glimpse at either left his broken soul wrought with despair and loneliness.

_You allowed her too much. And Legolas, too_, he reproached with a scowl, his hands balling into fists at his sides as he began pacing the length of his bedroom.

He would have liked to swig back another glass of wine or two, but he had already emptied one bottle, and an uncomfortable headache was starting to pound his brain. The anger, too, festering from within was unconsciously bringing a past physical wound to the surface, and it spread rapidly across the left side of Thranduil's face like a wild fire.

_Is it little wonder she would grow up to turn on you? That Legolas would turn his back on you as well? _

_Love! _he concluded._ This is what love has brought upon you, Thranduil: destruction and ruin!_ _ Nothing more!_

Thranduil gave a sudden jolt before a medium-sized mirror, catching a glimpse of his disastrous reflection within the glass. He stared with disgust at the rotted, burnt flesh that tore across one side of his face, its horrid appearance ruining what was, for any Elf, their most exotic physical quality: their beauty and grace. His left eye, too, was leaden and unrecognisable, murky and unclear.

_Monstrous_, he bemoaned in silent agony. _Vile... Unsightly... Monstrous._

_Tauriel is the cause for your undoing_, his conscience proceeded to lash out, his irate sneer returning._ You accepted her, and how did she repay you? By defying your orders and threatening your very life. And what do you do, Thranduil, son of Oropher, le pe-channas? You invite her back into your sphere to ridicule and defy you once more! _

The rush of resentment and wrath was as swift as a passing blade. Thranduil swung his arm across the counter top of his dresser, sending all sorts of items flying and crashing to the floor, including his treasured autumn crown of thorns. Some of the twigs snapped in half, the decorative leaves scattering lifelessly at his feet.

Breathing heavily, Thranduil peered into the mirror once more, this time with reluctance, and found his long ago injury receding back underneath his skin, camouflaged and invisible. Still, he knew it was there, its exquisite pain forever palpable beneath the hard exterior he wore with such efficiency.

_So much for love..._

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><p>Tauriel wasn't sure of the time when she next awoke. The faint sunlight that crept through her windows, which left small rays of light across her reposed face, told her that it must be close to mid-morning.<p>

She couldn't recall opening the windows the previous night, either, and now a chilly draft had settled in her bedroom, though, as an Elf, she was unaffected by the dramatic drop in temperature; but, perhaps, in the heat of the moment, she had thrown them open to catch her breath and let the cool air calm her outrage.

One thing was certain: Tauriel _did_ remember stomping back to her bedroom in tears and collapsing onto her bed. She had dissected and obsessed over every detail of that wretched exchange with the king for the next several hours, occasionally punching the pillows in frustration. (She may have even secretly wished the pillows she hit were King Thranduil's face, but she would readily keep that side note to herself).

Deciding that she had best shower and dress rather than spend the next few hours moping in bed, Tauriel tore back the covers and made her way to the bath. She hoped an assignment from King Thranduil would be forthcoming, because the last thing she needed was another listless day spent juggling her many jumbled thoughts.

Not only was she still fuming over the king's words from last night, but the anger inside, having brewed long and steadily overnight, was quickly morphing into tears as she began to bathe. Her mind turned futilely from the seemingly heartless nature of her king to the final, crushing moments of Kíli's life, and, there in the privacy of her bath, Tauriel lost it. She wept openly, without shame, not giving a damn who might be overhearing her grief-stricken sob fest.

_Tragedy... Loss... Banishment... Wounded pride..._

Tauriel allowed herself time to release these toxins, all the while fighting to grasp some composure again. By the time she stepped from her hour-long bath and slipped into the attractive robes King Thranduil had gifted her once more, she was feeling recharged and in control of her emotions. Perhaps a good cry had been what an Elf healer would have ordered.

In either case, Tauriel felt marginally better and prayed that the small lift in her spirits would last. Unfortunately, by noontime there was still no word from King Thranduil, though.

_Give it time, Tauriel. You just made your request to him last evening. _

With a disappointed sigh, Tauriel flung open her bedroom door—she couldn't remain cooped up inside her quarters a moment longer—and began to walk. There was no destination in mind, per usual, only a feeble hope of distracting herself.

Tauriel wasn't conscious of progressing directly to the front gates until her eyes stumbled upon their imposing outline. Two guards she knew were stationed at the entrance, and they eyed their former captain suspiciously as she approached, who appeared somewhat dazed and at a loss.

Then one of them cleared his throat and spoke uneasily, "No one's permitted to come or go without the king's consent."

"I'm well aware of that," Tauriel snapped in reply, though she felt utterly foolish for not having paid better attention to where she was going.

In haste, Tauriel retraced her steps and took off in another direction. Her dead end had turned into quite the let-down, however.

What the outdoors Elleth wouldn't give to freely stroll the forest grounds beyond the gates, perhaps even enjoy a brief swim in Mirkwood's warm, tranquil waters beneath the fall. It was the height of autumn in these woods, and her heart longed to take in the splendour of arresting golds and red foliage that would surely be on display for as far as the eye could see.

If it weren't for the spiders—those damnable, persistent creatures that kept gnawing on and sickening their precious woodlands—the kingdom would be showering in such vibrant colours at this time of year. Mirkwood's autumns were unlike any other in Middle-earth, and the yearn to gaze upon them with her own eyes was palpable, and yet, cruelly denied.

_If only the king would allow us the right to come and go as we please again..._

Tauriel frowned and redirected her feet. No, she wouldn't think on King Thranduil on this particular stroll. It was the surest way to end up in a foul mood, and she was determined to remain level-headed.

As Tauriel's casual walk through Mirkwood's underground caves twisted and deepened, however, it became increasingly more difficult _not _to think on the forbidding Elf who ruled over this majestic, formidable kingdom. The reality of its increasing darkness and gloom saddened her, though, for this was no longer the Mirkwood splendour Tauriel had grown up enjoying.

Tauriel paused as she reached the foot of a staircase, finding herself off-kilter by the bend in thought her conscience had abruptly taken. She rarely reflected on her past, for much of it was a combination of pain, rebirth, and unfortunate change she would have rather put aside, preferably for good.

_The great fire..._

Tauriel's pace slowed as a particularly harrowing memory began to take over. She remembered the deadly inferno but only bits and fragments. Her parents had been amongst the many who had sought to defend their lands from a vicious pack of Orcs who had sprung up from the south, intent to raise hell and kill as many of their kin as possible. The king and queen had led the charge against their attackers, and her parents had followed their lead.

_Tauriel raced after them that fateful afternoon, slipping unseen through the gates as the army marched off to face their uninvited guests, and tracked their whereabouts some distance behind on foot. _

_It had been sunny that day—an odd omen for the Elves, considering how many they lost that terrible day in fighting to maintain what was rightfully theirs. _

_Fearful of the repulsive beasts her mother and father had been summoned to combat, Tauriel hadn't hesitated to follow them into the thresh of battle and was petrified by what she encountered as she drew close: many of the old, long-standing oaks she had regularly climbed had been set ablaze; the hideous creatures she had heard about only in tales were striking down her kin left and right, using knives and stolen swords forged by her own people; blood and fire was everywhere and the ground was quickly littered with the dead, Elves and Orcs alike. _

_That was, perhaps, the most distressing image Tauriel took away from her experience: the countless faces of her dead kin lying unmoving on the scorched earth, their lifeless bodies consumed by flames. _

_Tauriel had crouched close enough to see specks of blood fly, unable to turn her eyes away from the horror. Concealed behind thick and heavy brushes, she watched as her father sliced an unfortunate Orc's head clear off its shoulders. The rest of the beast's body convulsed and fell after. He hadn't yet spotted a smaller Orc approaching from behind, and it was too late to take note of the arrow that had launched and was coming for him at tremendous speed. _

_Tauriel leapt out of the bushes; she needed to warn her father. But, she wasn't fast enough. _

_The arrow launched straight through her father's back and burst through the opposite side, splitting his chest wide open. Blood rained from his centre and from the corners of his mouth. He gasped and gagged for air, though oxygen wouldn't save him now._

"_ADA!" Tauriel cried out in horror, her small being frozen to the spot as her innocent eyes met his._

_Her father staggered sideways—a look of sheer surprise etched across his ashen face, now drained of its pure Elven life—and then he collapsed like a stone into a pool of deep water and went perfectly still. _

_Tauriel let forth a terrible scream that came from somewhere deep inside and rushed towards him, arms outstretched. Irrational thought suggested to the innocent child that, if she could just reach him, maybe he would turn over and show her that he was all right; but, then something else caught her eye and stopped her fresh in her tracks._

_Red. No, not blood. Hair. Red, wet hair covering the stiff, pallid profile of a wise-looking Elleth who lay on the ground, dead. Her nose and pink lips, though they had turned an unnatural shade of blue, matched Tauriel's, and the child's fiercely beating heart catapulted into her throat. It was her mother, and she, too, was gone._

"_NANA!" _

_Tauriel's knees buckled and gave way, her wide, watery eyes darting helplessly from one departed parent to the other. They couldn't even perish together. Even as death separated them from their daughter, their bodies lay far apart, not touching. _

_A shaken, stunned Tauriel crawled her way over sharp branches and rough dirt soiled with Elven blood in a desperate attempt to reach her family. The awful stench of death and torched flesh didn't faze her or distract her from her cause. She just needed to get to her mother and father. _

_Tauriel had nearly reached the unfolding battle scene when two enormous Orcs paroling the outskirts abruptly blocked her advance. "What's this?" one of them snorted, peering down at the bloodied Elleth with a mixture of curiosity and disdain._

"_A wee one," cackled the other, piecing together the child's tears and the fallen figures that lay separated from one another at their feet. "Was she your mama, you little dog?" he ridiculed with a sinister, yellow grin. Tauriel's only response was to quiver._

"_Well, let's send this one to join her mamma and dada!"_

_The larger of the two, who had been the one to shoot the arrow that ultimately killed her father, raised the same bow towards Tauriel, this time to wipe out the family's last remaining descent, and Tauriel remained paralysed on her hands and knees, numbed and unable to decide between sprinting out of harm's way or allowing the loathsome creature to finish her off._

_Suddenly, the nauseating sound of flesh tearing made Tauriel startle in the grass. In the next instant, the Orc's bow and arrow had dropped to the ground, and something stocky and solid had borne straight through his chest, as well as the shorter Orc's to its right. _

_Tauriel's mouth dropped at the sight of the king's majestic elk piercing the Orcs' flesh with its mighty antlers. Their bodies were then flung into the air and landed in the brush several feet off, dead. _

"_Henig!" came an authoritative voice Tauriel recognised, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "Tolo ar nin!"_

_The elk rushed forward and Tauriel made to stumble out of the way to avoid being crushed by the beast's giant hooves. As she reared back, she finally noticed King Thranduil bestride the grand creature, peering down at her through eyes that were as bright and soul-crushing as the sky overhead. His lips were slightly parted and there were trails of blood speckled across his cheeks and in his billowing, golden hair. He appeared both impenetrable and perturbed by the sight of her and quickly leaned down to retrieve the small Elf from the ground._

"_Take my hand!" he ordered._

_Tauriel stalled, her frightened eyes sweeping from her king to her parents' lifeless bodies and back again. _

"_Av-'osto," King Thranduil insisted more gently, his words soft and caring, which perked Tauriel's ears up at once; she had never heard her king speak with such tenderness before._ _Then again, she had never been quite so close to him, either. _

_The quiet moment between king and child was violently disrupted by the returning, frenzied sounds of battle—the dying, the fleeing, and the pursuers shattering the stillness of their beloved woodlands. _

_Without another passing thought, and scared out of her wits, Tauriel reached up and grabbed onto King Thranduil's much larger hand, whose fingers folded around hers with warmth, their grip immensely strong. A second later and Tauriel was yanked from the ground and straddling the front of the elk, with one of the king's protective arms looped tightly around her midsection._

"_A lelyalmë!" he commanded to his company._

_The elk sprang into a gallop, charging and taking out Orcs in its path as they made for home. King Thranduil, too, wiped out those who dared to try to attack them along the way, using his free arm to stab and shave ugly heads from bodies. _

_Tauriel squeezed her eyes shut, holding tight to the king's arm that kept her from being thrown off the elk, and didn't dare to open her eyes again until she could no longer sense blades piercing flesh or Orcs spewing blood. She wasn't aware of being dismounted from the elk a few, short minutes later or being carried through the front gates by King Thranduil himself. It was only once that same dogmatic voice instructed her to open her eyes that Tauriel dared do so._

_Tauriel's frightened eyes darted about the unfamiliar room she found herself in, her body trembling uncontrollably. The ceilings were high and vaulted, the windows let in a calm, gentle breeze coming from the West, and she was sitting on top of a chaise that was at least three times her size. _

_Those same striking blue eyes came into focus in front of her, along with the rest of his towering, armoured frame, which was kneeling down in front of her so that they may be at equal eye level. _

"_What's your name, selde?" Tauriel vaguely heard the king ask._

"_I..." She blinked several times; her heart was beating out of her chest. _

"_It's all right," King Thranduil assured her, surprising Tauriel by gracing her shoulder with his touch. "You're safe now."_

"_B - But..." Her eyes welled with tears. "Nana... Ada..."_

_The lines at the corners of King Thranduil's eyes and mouth sharpened a little, but the rest of his face remained beautifully serene. In silence, he squeezed the Elleth's shoulder, conveying his sorrow for her loss without resorting to words to express them. _

_A lengthy moment passed before the king finally whispered, his sombre words taking root in the tortured recesses of the child's mind, "Amin hiraetha, little serene."_

_Tauriel was having trouble processing her reality. She had observed her father's violent passing, stumbled upon her mother's corpse, and witnessed the devastation of what fighting the enemy could do to her own people. Now, she was sitting in the king and queen's private chambers—or so she could only assume—an orphan and entirely alone in the world. _

_Overwhelmed, Tauriel threw her hands over her face, pulled her knees to her chest, and began to cry. Her sobs were soft and strained, however, not loud or overbearing as one might expect a child who had just lost her mother and father to sound. _

_She wasn't mindful of King Thranduil drifting from the floor to the chaise, facing her, his eyes peering down upon the weeping child with concern, and only for a short moment before he eased Tauriel against his chest. She didn't know she had grabbed onto the front of his bloodied armour, her tiny fingers clawing helplessly at the silver metal, desperate for something to cling to. They soon gave up and resumed covering her face, though the rest of her reclined into him for shelter and protection. _

_Tauriel hadn't realised that she was being embraced, either, comforted by a foreign pair of hands that rubbed gentle circles up and down her back. Her miniature being swayed back and forth in time with his until, eventually, she was too worn out to continue crying. _

_She wanted to sleep. To forget, if only for an hour or two. It was the only solution. Tomorrow she would surely awaken from this nightmare to the familiarity of her mother and father's warm greetings, hugs, and kisses. _

_Yes, this was all just a bad, bad dream._

"_What's your name, selde?" the king tried inquiring again, speaking delicately into her ear._

"_T - Tauriel," she snivelled against his chest, unable to cease shaking; she was grateful that, despite the rigid armour he wore, King Thranduil had a surprisingly warm touch._

"_Do you know who I am?"_

"_Y - Yes..."_

"_Then you know you have nothing to fear?"_

"_Y - Yes..."_

"_Don't be afraid. I will look after you."_

_Tauriel slowly drew back to look up into the king's eyes, taken by how charitable they were. Her little face, flushed and stained with tears, became half cradled by one of his gloved hands._

"_You are not alone, Tauriel, all right?"_

"_But... My nana...and ada..."_

"_I know," he conveyed as softly and understandingly as possible, "but I promise you, little selde, it will be all right."_

_Tauriel blinked, a glint of hope sweeping across her green eyes, and then another tear trickled down her cheek, its presence a heart-wrenching symbol of her loss. _

_King Thranduil looked as though he were about to offer further comfort to the orphaned child, but the doors to his chambers unexpectedly opened, startling Tauriel into burrowing her face in the king's chest again._

"_It's all right, Tauriel," he informed her a moment later, lightly tapping the back of her head. "It's quite all right. You're safe now."_

"_Thranduil, we've cleared the area!" exclaimed an enthusiastic voice—female—that rounded on them, though Tauriel didn't chance a peek to see who it was. "The Orcs have been slaughtered! Every last one of— Oh!" Her voice abruptly changed, turning daintier, more dignified. "Why, who is this little selde?"_

"_This is Tauriel. Tauriel?" _

_Skittish and uncertain, Tauriel peered sidelong and was taken aback by the angelic Elleth now kneeling at her side, with long, shimmering hair that rivalled the king's. Her azure eyes were curious, deep and wise, her smile loving and friendly. _

_Tauriel understood at once who she was face to face with before the king introduced them to each other. "This is my wife, Queen Vanya."_

"_A, Tauriel," the queen greeted with tender-hearted affection, drawing a naked hand to her chest in friendship. "Why do you grieve, little selde?"_

"_She...has just seen the battle," King Thranduil explained in short, and that was apparently all the queen needed to know to form an understanding of her situation. _

_Queen Vanya's face turned heavy with heartache and concern. She reached out a hand to stroke one of Tauriel's wet cheeks._

"_Oh, little selde," she murmured, tracing her thumb along a lone tear, "you should not have gone there. That was far too dangerous. What might have become of you?"_

"_NANA!"_

_Tauriel jumped again in King Thranduil's arms as another loud noise disrupted them, this time a voice that sounded not much older than hers. A pair of light-sprinting feet rushed towards them, and the queen turned from Tauriel to outstretch her arms and scoop someone—a child—into her arms. _

_The Elf in question donned green robes and brown shoes and was, perhaps, an inch taller than Tauriel. As he stepped out of his mother's embrace, he turned to face the redheaded youth being coddled by his father and studied her a moment, his brilliant eyes, which matched the king and queen's, pinning Tauriel in place._

"_Legolas," stated the king, brushing a few hairs off of Tauriel's shoulder, "I'd like you to meet Tauriel."_

"_A, Tauriel," the boy named Legolas addressed her, issuing the same polite manner as his mother; then he inched closer, his eyebrows coming together. "Are you a Silvan, too?"_

_Tauriel's cheeks reddened. Was that meant to be an insult or...?_

"_Y - Yes," she answered, turning away in shame._

_Legolas, on the other hand, shot her a wide grin. "Then you're from these parts? My ada's the king! And my nana's the queen."_

"_I think she knows that, Legolas," the queen chuckled and eyed Tauriel reassuringly; she wrapped an arm around the prince's small torso and tugged him closer. "Tauriel lost her parents today, lonneg," she whispered into Legolas's ear, wishing to be respectfully quiet on the sensitive subject, though Tauriel still overheard. _

_Immediately, Legolas's smug smile vanished. He took a cautious step nearer and bowed his head._

"_Goheno nin. I'm sorry for your loss, Tauriel."_

_Tauriel was too numb to reply. Instead, she shied away from the boy and hid her face against King Thranduil's armour._

"_Perhaps we should allow Tauriel time to rest?" the king suggested to his wife, who issued a silent nod in agreement, rose, and placed her hands on her son's shoulders. _

_The prince was too busy eying Tauriel over (or what little he could see of her) to pay attention to his parents' hushed exchange about the earlier fight, however. Intrigue and uncertainty were etched upon his youthful features as he stared long and hard at the shy, soft-spoken Elleth, until, at last, Tauriel chanced another peek at him, too. _

_Legolas's countenance, pinched from scrutinising her at length, eased into a look of kindness and good humour, and Tauriel found the prince's handsome smile an added welcome to the king and queen's, though she couldn't speak up and say so. _

"_I'm going to take Tauriel to lie down," she suddenly heard the king say, and, sure enough, Tauriel found herself rising into the air, with King Thranduil bundling her close._

_They turned around and stalked off. Legolas waved to her as he and his mother looked on, but, soon, they, too, disappeared. Tauriel entered a bedroom that was being watched over by a guard, and the king instructed him to snuff out any remaining torch lights and to close the windows._

_Tauriel was carefully placed on an enormous, plush bed that looked as though it might swallow her up. She glanced up to see King Thranduil staring down at her, a tender smile evident, though it was barely traceable in such poor lighting._

"_You can rest here as long as you want, all right? There will be a guard posted outside the door should you need anything."_

_Tauriel bit her lip and gave a minute nodded. She started a little when the king moved closer in order to draw back the covers for her, but she recovered just as quickly and scooted underneath the sheets without needing to be told to do so. _

"_Thank you," she managed once she was settled, her voice scratchy and hoarse; her tiny fingers clasped onto the edge of the covers and pulled them up to her neck. _

_King Thranduil offered the woeful, petrified child a bow as he stepped back from the bed, wishing to give her some space. "We'll check in on you later, little selde. Quel kaima."_

_The king pressed a hand to his chest and extended his arm out in farewell, and, though they both knew their separation would be short, Tauriel felt compelled to exercise the same gesture and did likewise. She was marginally comforted by the kindness his eyes bestowed on her before he turned and left the room, his armoury clanking slightly and his footsteps fading away into the distance._

_All became quiet and still and, under the cover of darkness, Tauriel easily fell into a deep slumber, spent from the overwhelming adrenaline and anguish of the day. Her fragile conscience still expected her to wake later and find her parents very much alive, but, upon being coaxed awake by the king and queen hours later, sorrow shattered what little scrap of hope the Elleth had maintained. _

_Tauriel wept all over again, as though the pain was fresh and unspoiled, and the king and queen were there to console her, permitting the child to scream and cry to her heart's content. _

It seemed odd to remember King Thranduil in such a tender, warm-hearted state, sitting by her side for many hours on end whilst she sobbed for her parents, even going so far as to insure that she ate by feeding the child himself over the next several days, and tucking her back underneath the covers and waiting till she fell asleep before he ever left her room.

King Thranduil had been so different—so much more loving—when Tauriel was young; so nurturing, compassionate, and warm. She had nearly forgotten him capable of such sentiments.

Where was the love in that same Elven ruler now? Where had his kindness, thoughtfulness, and, most importantly, his heart gone?

_I think you know, Tauriel..._

"There you are! Tauriel?"

A distracted Tauriel started and whipped her head around, her mind ripped from one of its most emotional memories like a severe yank to her hair. To her utter surprise, Firverior was standing at the bottom of the staircase, watching her from a short distance away and wearing a look of concern.

Suddenly realising her tears, Tauriel sought to wipe them away, infuriated that she had been caught crying, least of all by a friend. "What?" she asked somewhat irritably, clearing her throat.

"Sorry if I startled you, but we've all been looking for you."

Tauriel angled her head, her tears momentarily forgotten. "'We'?"

"Myself and the other guards. The king wishes to see you."

"Now?"

Firverior nodded, the worry still apparent in his green eyes as they searched hers for any glimmer of further distress. "We've been searching the grounds for nearly a half hour."

"Well, I hadn't gone far."

Firverior's mouth slumped. "Tauriel, have you any idea how far underground we are?"

It only then dawned on the wandering Elleth that she was standing in near complete darkness. There were no torches lining the halls here; no faint candlelight to show the way in or out. In fact, Tauriel couldn't recall having ever been to this section of Mirkwood's caves before; she certainly didn't recognise such dark, dismal surroundings.

"Oh, I..." Tauriel swallowed and settled for an apology. "Amin hiraetha, I wasn't aware of how far I'd strayed."

The apprehension lining Firverior's countenance livened, but, thankfully to Tauriel, he let it slide. "Yes, well, come along. King Thranduil's waiting..."

Tauriel squared her shoulders and sprinted after Firverior up the stairs, quickly ascertaining the considerable distance from where she had started her walk. _Hopefully_, she pondered as she and Firverior made their way back to the king in silence, _King Thranduil has something in mind for me to do. Finally._

* * *

><p>King Thranduil was seated at a wooden desk in a closed off area that adjoined the council room when Tauriel arrived. Lathron was hovering over him, whispering into the king's ear on occasion and handing him correspondences, papers, and other stately matters that were in need of his attention.<p>

King Thranduil didn't so much as raise his head when Tauriel and Firverior entered, appearing otherwise engaged in whatever he was presently reading, but Lathron acknowledged Tauriel's presence with a respectful nod and a quick smile. That small, kind gesture was one the Elleth inwardly appreciated. She had always respected the old, wise secretary, having known him for as long as she had known the king. Lathron was a fair-minded and considerate Elf, and it was a relief to encounter another dear friend of hers who didn't react with disgust or disappointment at seeing her again.

"Hîr vuin, Tauriel is here," Firverior spoke up, and King Thranduil's eyes slowly rose from the bit of parchment in his hands to the redhead in question, their depths scrutinising her for an extended, agonising moment.

"Very well," he answered following the pregnant pause. "You may go, Firverior." He rolled up the parchment in his hands and handed the contents off to Lathron. "We'll finish this later."

"Yes, my Lord," said Lathron with a polite bow; he shuffled around the king's desk but halted as he reached Tauriel's side. "Welcome back. It's good to see you, Tauriel."

"And you, Lathron," she responded in kind, returning the Elf's soft smile.

"You may have a seat," King Thranduil cut in, and his words put a harsh end to their short conversation. Lathron hurried out of the room and Tauriel awkwardly stepped forward, though she couldn't bring herself to sit.

"I'd prefer to stand, hîr vuin, if I may?"

King Thranduil's eyes swept over her with a level of indifference. "Suit yourself."

Tauriel settled for closing her mouth and lowered her gaze, forcing patience and awaiting the king's address. She faintly heard him rise from behind his desk and glide over to her, his silver robes trailing upon the ground behind him.

"You had asked me to find you employment yesterday; to give you something to do."

Tauriel nodded agreeably, avoiding eye contact. "Yes, my Lord." She prayed King Thranduil wasn't about to offer her some lowly position that she would not only find insulting but might garner the rise out of her he likely was looking for.

"I have decided on what I think would be best suited for you."

_I'm sure you have_, Tauriel proceeded to mock him, albeit, thankfully, in her head. She kept her head down, listening intently as the king began to circle around her, his pace deliberately slow and unhurried.

"After much consideration, I've concluded that you should reconvene your position as a member of the guard." At the subsequent shock in Tauriel's eyes, for she raised her head and gave the king a stunned, suspicious-looking reaction, he continued, "Oh, not as Captain. I couldn't allow it after the treachery and deceit that's transpired. It would be beneath my standards and they are exceptionally high to win back, particularly for _you_."

Tauriel's jaw tightened but she refused to retort, allowing King Thranduil to carry on without interruption. "However, I _shall _permit you another position; one, I hope, might reaffirm my belief in your loyalty to me."

Tauriel made sure to keep her expression blank. "My Lord?"

King Thranduil ceased circling her and took a step closer, his sky blue irises intensely staring her down, his mouth set in a challenging sort of sneer. "I've chosen to make you one of my personal guards."

The king offered nothing more, choosing instead to watch the taxing redhead gradually bring her lips together and swallow hard. Her reaction might have been perfectly composed, but he wasn't fooled by such calmness. She was likely not only upset by this appointment but also infuriated at being forced to work so closely alongside him. It was simply a matter of exercising patience and allowing time to bring forth her true emotions.

"Well?" he pushed for a response, the quiet atmosphere between them intensifying.

"I... Well..." Tauriel struggled to express. "Are you sure you want _me_ as one of your personal guards, my Lord?"

King Thranduil raised his chin a fraction. "And why wouldn't I? Have I reason to doubt your allegiance and capabilities already before they've been put to use?"

"Certainly not," Tauriel couldn't stop herself from scoffing, though she pressed on with contrived collectedness. "I'm just surprised you would want to work that closely with me after...well, after what I did?"

"Don't be such a simpleton. There's no working 'closely' as one of my guards. You work for _me_; not alongside me," King Thranduil tried to enforce and stretch the truth. "You will be granted access to my personal sphere only when I allow it. Otherwise, you're to maintain your distance. Is that clear?"

Tauriel fought back a snide retaliation, though it took every ounce of composure she had, and bowed her head low. "Of course, my Lord. I humbly thank you for your consideration and accept the position."

In a rush, Tauriel turned on her heel to leave when King Thranduil stopped her with his next cutting remarks, uttering in a cold and calculated tone, "I never granted you permission to leave."

Waiting for the vexed Elleth to turn around and face him, he let the faintest, satisfying smile escape his lips once they made eye contact. "You're to report to your duties immediately."

Tauriel gave a brief look of contention before resuming calmness. "Don't I need to be fitted with the proper attire and weaponry first, my Lord?"

King Thranduil gestured towards the door behind her, and it opened at his silent command. "Berialagoswen will see to it that you are, as you put it, 'properly fitted' with what you need to begin your duties." He stared Tauriel down in a perverse and dubious manner that took her further aback and then added, "I hope you will not make a fool out of me a second time, Tauriel. It's not in my nature to give second chances. Don't make me regret this."

Tauriel watched Thranduil turn his back and return to his desk, his expression its usual smooth mask of apathy again, if not slightly harder and more menacing than the façade she remembered from before her banishment. She was exasperated, to be sure, but such a strange look from her king made her blood run cold.

How had she been able to recall a time when her king was gracious, even _loving_? Had she made that all up in her head in order to deal with the unfortunate happenings that had occurred in childhood?

_No..._ King Thranduil really _had _been warm once, not so cold and terribly unfeeling as he was now, which had evidently been made worse by Legolas's sore departure over a year ago. Firverior's warning to Tauriel stood out in her mind, for he had been correct: the king _wasn't _himself, and, even after going to battle with a real evil that would only smoulder and spread should they stand back and do nothing, he wasn't a king who had been changed for the better.

Apprehensive, cross, and a tad concerned, Tauriel turned away from King Thranduil and stalked out of the room without a parting word, following after Berialagoswen as her mind wrestled things over. It hadn't taken her long to apprehend that this appointment wasn't for her to prove her loyalty.

_This is so the king can keep tabs on me._

With an aggravated sigh, Tauriel pushed onward. If this was the king's wish—to keep a close eye on his former captain rather than allow her to do something far more productive for him and the realm, such as defending it from ominous forces that, for now, lurked in shadow—then she would yield.

_For the time being. Until push comes to shove. Then we'll see how much he regrets appointing me into his 'personal sphere'. _

* * *

><p><strong><span>Elvish Translations:<span>**

_**le pe-channas = you idiot**_

_**Henig = Child (general)**_

_**Tolo ar nin =** **Come with me**_

**_Av-'osto = Don't be afraid_**

**_A lelyalmë = Let's go_**

**_selde = child (female)_**

**_A = Hi_**

**_Goheno nin = Forgive me_**

**_Quel kaima = Sleep well_**

* * *

><p><strong><span>AN #2: Feedback is appreciated... Thank you to those who review...**


	6. Amin merna quen (I wish to speak)

**A/N: Thank you so much for the continued support of this little story of mine! Your feedback and favs/alerts mean so much! :) Have another chappie!**

**Of note: Per a reader's request, I've gone back through this story so far and added translations for any Elvish words wherever they appear for the _first time_. So, from now on, you can find the translations for any _new_ Elvish words by scrolling down to the bottom of the page. (This chapter doesn't contain any new words, though.)**

**Onward!**

**EDIT 02-13-2015: _I've been informed that "She-Elf" is mostly a negative connotation. (Oops! Like I've said from the beginning, I'm no Tolkien expert.) I've gone back through every chapter so far and changed this to its proper term, "Elleth", and left "She-Elf" in places where it's used in the appropriate context._**

**Disclaimer: _The Hobbit _and_ The Lord of the Rings_ are copyrighted to and belong to J. R. R. Tolkien. I'm just playing in his sandbox and receive no financial gain from this.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Amin merna quen (I wish to speak)<strong>

* * *

><p>Thranduil tossed and turned violently in bed, quickly becoming entangled in the sheets. He didn't perspire nor shake like that of a mortal king in the midst of a harrowing nightmare, but he did manage a small, inescapable moan on occasion, its echo low and far too faint to be overheard. Whatever was transpiring in his dreams sounded as though it was causing him physical pain to endure, however.<p>

An empty wine bottle sat atop his bedside table, along with a drained glass, its contents long devoured hours before.

Suddenly, Thranduil thrashed in his sleep, cried out into the darkness, and knocked the glass over with a sporadic fling of his arm. The glass hit the floor and shattered into many pieces, sending Thranduil flying up in bed, his breathing laboured and intense. Slowly, the realisation that he was tucked away in the safety of his private quarters eased the disturbed Elven king back into a reclining position, a sigh of relief releasing from his chest. The fragments of glass scattered along the floor would have to be addressed later, for Thranduil was too disquieted over his latest night terror—one of many as of late—to consider the mess he had made.

"Vanya..." he whispered into the darkness of his room, dazzling, alert eyes staring up at the ceiling, though his queen was nowhere in sight. "Our son... _My son_... If he dies...whatever shall I do?"

Of course, there came no answer to this distraught question, only a desolate silence that seemed to stretch on for an eternity. Still, Thranduil peered up at the ceiling, hoping against hope that _some _communication—some glimmer of reconciliation from the divine heavens above—might come forth, but, alas, none emerged. No word of support came, no matter how many times Thranduil desperately reached out beyond the veil that separated life from death; a veil he would gladly tear back and step through if the cruelty of such a long, hollow life would permit him to pass freely.

"Can you not hear me?" he murmured after several minutes had passed, his voice cracking. "Have you, too, forsaken me?"

The terrible, lonely silence answered back, its cruel message the same as it had long been: _You_ _are alone, Thranduil, son of Oropher, and alone you shall ever be._

* * *

><p>Tauriel hadn't put much stock in finding enjoyment in her return to serving King Thranduil, and yet, in her first days on the job as one of his personal guards, she discovered that she cared for it even <em>less<em> than originally anticipated.

Whilst the five other personal guards on staff, all of whom rotated their positions throughout the day and night, viewed their unique roles as private protectors and caregivers to their king the highest honour an Elf could obtain, Tauriel found said role exasperating and...monotonous, at best.

King Thranduil rarely allowed his guards to do more than the average errand or request, such as sending out for his meals, calling upon those whom he demanded an audience with at any given moment, or standing guard inside or outside whatever room he occupied. Being at the king's constant beck and call was a rude awakening for outspoken Tauriel, who, whilst accustomed to being commanded to look over the precious realm of Mirkwood at large, wasn't used to being asked to fetch the king another bottle of wine.

So far, Tauriel had managed to reel in her sharp tongue, but every day was wearing her patience thinner and thinner under King Thranduil's vigilant judgmental eyes. She had been placed on the evening shift and mostly only seen to tedious matters such as ordering the king's dinner—and wine; there was _always_ an abundance of wine that, frankly, alarmed her—before following him on to the library or his personal study, where he would mull over that day's correspondences he had yet to answer or read for hours on end. Tauriel would be instructed to linger in a far off corner of the room where she wouldn't disturb the king's peace and quiet, and, of course, she was permitted to do nothing else except stand guard and come forward on occasion when beckoned.

The other guards leapt at the chance to be of service to their king, but, for Tauriel, the role was an infuriating one, to put it mildly. To be so close to King Thranduil on a regular basis, and yet, to be treated as if she was no more than a lingering shadow that trailed behind the Elf ruler from room to room seemed almost a worse trade to her former life of banishment. Almost.

_Remember how isolated and lonely you were, Tauriel..._

_But aren't you just as isolated and lonely now?_

Tauriel would chew her bottom lip to keep from letting out an exasperated sigh, something she made the mistake of doing unconsciously her third evening at the post and, subsequently, she received King Thranduil's unfortunate reprimanding for her little outburst.

"If you're finding your duty as one of my personal guards to be beneath you then you're permitted to leave at any time."

Tauriel knew the king was baiting her into proving himself correct on the sore subject of taking the chance on rehiring her, but he was also trying to thwart her motivation and patience as well, and she wouldn't have it. She reminded herself daily _not _to fall for the king's mind games, but the long nights spent in his service and, more importantly, his forbidding presence were proving mentally taxing on her spirits.

After nearly a week, Tauriel was ready to scream and curse and dislodge an arrow straight between the damnable Elf's eyes. King Thranduil could be dismissive and rude to her one moment and then (somewhat) appreciative and respectful the next. His moods were unpredictable and touchy, leaving Tauriel and the rest of his staff to guesstimate most of the time on how best to approach him. He may have been her king and thereby offering her a gracious second chance, but this was no way the sprightly Elleth desired to spend her time _or_ her skills. At this rate, she would have rather served the greater realm in another capacity than serve the king alone.

There _was_ a silver lining to be found in all the frustration and forced restraint, however. Although the tasks given to her were in and of themselves mundane, Tauriel hadn't bargained on discovering such an interest in what the king's nightly routine consisted of, or, in general, how he chose to spend his evenings, most of which were in utter seclusion. Whilst this wasn't much of a surprise to Tauriel to learn about him, it _did _cause her greater concern as the nights wore on.

Having been assigned to the evening and overnight shift, Tauriel grew particularly worried not only with how the king closed himself off from his subjects but also the amount of wine he consumed on a regular basis. Normally, at least two glasses were requested with dinner, followed by the rest of a bottle in his study or the library, and King Thranduil nearly always ordered a second or even third bottle before retiring for the night.

Tauriel had been half tempted many a time to address this concern with the other personal guards, but since she wasn't on good footing with them either—having been a 'betrayer' and all—that left her to stew over the matter for herself alone. Suggesting that the king 'lay off' his wine intake would surely only serve to get her fired, if not banished all over again, so Tauriel kept her mouth shut.

At first.

By her second week on staff, however, Tauriel was practically gnawing at the bit. Not only was the king looking worse for the wear by the day but the more he drank the more abrasive and upset he became.

One evening pushed Tauriel to the brink. On this particular night, King Thranduil gave explicit instructions to the second guard on watch to not allow anyone to disrupt him "under any circumstances". It wasn't an usual command, though, and the guard took his spot just outside the study's doors as usual, leaving Tauriel to watch the interior. The king, who had sought refuge in his personal study following his evening meal, acted more agitated than usual, snarling on occasion at whatever book or written correspondence he held in his hands or cursing over the "splitting headache" he had been nursing for several hours straight.

Tauriel had thought about suggesting that he seek some relief from a healer but forced herself not to speak out of turn—for the time being. She suspected that the second bottle of wine King Thranduil had started on since dinner wasn't likely alleviating his headache _or_ elevating his mood, for that matter. Still, she remained tight-lipped.

After dowsing the second bottle of wine in what had to be record timing, however, Tauriel had grown wary of her ability to keep from taking action, especially as King Thranduil proceeded to glare at her once he was through—his eyes bloodshot and horribly venomous—and demand in a threatening, hushed tone, "I require more wine," to which Tauriel visibly hesitated.

At the Elleth's seeming refusal to jump to fulfil his command, King Thranduil's upper lip curled backward in outrage. "Did you hear me?" he whispered, his voice rich with intimidation. "I said, _more wine_."

This time, Tauriel sprung to life, but she didn't scurry out of the room to see to the drunken king's request as he expected her to. Instead, she stalked to the large desk where he sat slumped forward in his chair, ripped the empty bottle from his hand, and stared him down in that same disgusted manner she had that fateful day before the Lonely Mountain.

"_No._"

King Thranduil made a slight tilt of his head, the wave of shock that washed over his tight expression dissipating as swiftly as it occurred. "What was that?" he demanded with a clenched jaw. His cheeks, she noted, had taken on more vibrancy.

Tauriel twitched but held her ground. "Don't you think you've had enough, my Lord?" she pleaded as sensibly as possible, but the blue eyes glaring up at her, which then flashed with suppressed rage, informed the bold redhead that she had been sorely mistaken in trying to reason with him.

"Who are _you _to tell your king what is enough?"

"As one of your personal guards who's concerned for your welfare—"

"My _welfare_?" King Thranduil interrupted Tauriel with short, bitter laughter. "Since when have_ I _ever been a concern of _yours_?"

In that moment, Tauriel's face fell, the loss of fire in her stance apparent as she imploringly searched the king's face. He looked flushed and grim and not at all the grand, stately Elven ruler she had long grown up respecting and admiring. The grave change in his appearance was both agonising and disconcerting to gaze upon, and at such a close proximity. Her next words were equally soul-crushing and despondent.

"Hîr vuin," she whispered, her eyes turning sad and forlorn, "drinking yourself to the point of excess won't bring your son back..."

The silence that hovered in the air was tense, prickly, and put Tauriel on edge, so much so that she wasn't aware of clasping the handle of the wine bottle so tightly that it started to crack. Yes, she had just spoken way out of turn—and hit upon a nerve judging by the offence that manifested in King Thranduil's face—but Tauriel tried not to cower in the face of his oncoming wrath. He shot out of his chair with such fluid and grace that another might have thought him perfectly sober and in his right frame of mind; Tauriel knew better.

"_How dare you_," he hissed rather than shouted, and the lit torches that hung on the walls around his study began to flicker.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel tried again, this time with desperation rather than calmness, "if you could only _see_ how detrimental you're—"

"_Get out._"

With that baleful, parting command, the lights around the room ceased flickering, though Tauriel and King Thranduil remained facing one another, the ruler's desk providing a safe barrier between them.

Slowly, Tauriel inched back, though her eyes remained locked on his. "I shall send for a healer to help with your headache, hîr vuin."

King Thranduil sneered, still heavily affronted by her earlier remark. "You shall do no such thing—"

"If you are indeed suffering, my Lord, then it is my duty, as one of your personal guards, to see that you are well-attended to in my absence."

Whatever ire loomed beneath the surface of King Thranduil's hard expression, it deflated a bit with the Elleth's persistence. It was only once she turned away from him that he sunk back into his chair, her hard-hitting words from moments ago coursing through his veins like dragon fire.

'It won't bring your son back.'

'It won't bring your son back.'

_'It won't bring your son back.'_

King Thranduil waited for the oak doors to quietly shut behind Tauriel's retreating silhouette. Then he bowed his head low, pressed a hand to his brow, and smothered what was either a quiet sob or a broken curse behind his curtain of long blond hair.

* * *

><p>"<em>What did I tell you<em>?"

"I said nothing that wasn't warranted, Firverior."

"Have you gone _mad_, Tauriel?" her friend barked, staring at Tauriel as though she had sprouted an extra pair of pointy ears. "There's very little that warrants _anyone _berating the king like that!"

"I didn't berate him! I was acting in his best interest!"

"Whatever _we_ feel is in King Thranduil's 'best interest' is _not_ for us to speak on!"

"So, we should all continue to indulge our king in whichever method he chooses to destroy himself?"

"Tauriel—"

"_No_, Firverior," she snarled and held up a hand to stop him from speaking, "the king hired me to be one of his personal guards. Part of that job entails aiding the king in whatever way is best for _him_. I refuse to believe we should all go on as collective appeasers and pander to the king's every calamitous will and whim!"

"Tauriel, have you any idea what that sounds like?"

"Yes, I _do_! We're dealing with a king who's not only intent on evading his responsibilities as our sovereign but also capable of bringing Darkness upon us all, if we don't push him to act, and soon! He has no respect for his own immortality anymore, Firverior, and that's not only dangerous to him but to the rest of us! Can you not _see_? He needs our help!"

Firverior adamantly shook his head, however. "I believe in my king, Tauriel." His emerald irises suddenly darkened as they bore into hers. "Even if you don't...and never have."

Tauriel was brought up short by that harsh statement. She blinked, opened her mouth to reply, but shut it instead, flummoxed and at a loss. Firverior ended their discussion then and there by twirling around and taking off in the opposite direction, leaving Tauriel to frown after his withdrawing figure as he disappeared around a corner. She had wanted to contend that she _did_, in fact, still have faith in King Thranduil.

_Why would Firverior think I've never believed in him?_ She started in her tracks, another thought suddenly dawning on her. _Perhaps all King Thranduil needs, aside from a kick in the head, is for _me _to show him that I still have faith in him yet?_

_Probably wishful thinking_, she determined a moment later, _and yet, it's a start, is it not?_

* * *

><p>"Has the king come out today?"<p>

"No, my lady," answered her fellow guard, whom she had come to relieve for the night.

Tauriel shot the doors to King Thranduil's bedroom a puzzled look over. Surely, the king's lack of an appearance over the past two days couldn't all be _her_ doing, could it?

There was much growing concern surrounding the ruler's absence. No one had been able to reach him since two days prior when he had dismissed Tauriel for the night. He had retired to his bedroom, foregoing his usual request for another bottle of wine. Despite many attempts by various staff members to reach him since, King Thranduil had yet to answer anyone's requests for an audience. He even refused meals that were left at his doorstep.

At this point, Tauriel was becoming agitated. She had been tempted a handful of times over the past forty-eight hours to kick the king's door down, if only to receive his brittle response on the other end. At least she and their people would then be assured that their king was, in fact, all right, if just in a detached sort of mood. Tauriel forced a stiff upper lip and stood watch outside his bedroom door without giving into the temptation so far, but this was going on a third night now without any word.

_Could what I have said affected him _that_ greatly? _

_Surely not! You saw how he responded. He was furious but not changed by it. _

_But...what if this is all my fault?_

_You and your damned inability to keep quiet, Tauriel!_

It was halfway through the night, with Tauriel deep in her emotional turmoil over how best to approach this problem, when the second guard who was standing guard alongside her, a younger Elf named Daeron, interrupted her thoughts.

"Tauriel?"

"What?" she returned, startling despite her normally sharp hearing.

Daeron's expression was curious but not distressed as he inquired, "Did you hear that?"

Tauriel's ears perked up, alerting to a muffled scuffling and what sounded like moaning coming from inside King Thranduil's room. She nodded and braced a hand against the door.

"_No_!" Daeron gaped at the brazen Elleth. "We're not to disturb the king unless we believe he's in trouble!"

Tauriel raised an eyebrow. "And this doesn't warrant a disturbance?"

"It only sounds like a dream."

"Or a nightmare," Tauriel corrected as she pressed an ear to the wooden frame.

A moment later, King Thranduil's voice rang out in the darkness—loud, clear, and ear-splitting—and Tauriel jolted back from the door at once. She didn't hesitate to knock.

"Hîr vuin?"

"Tauriel, _don't_," Daeron warned, but she ignored her fellow guard and knocked harder.

"_Hîr vuin_?"

There was no answer, though Tauriel thought she detected a faint noise, like another feeble moan or a cry, followed by more eerie silence. A bad feeling settled in the pit of Tauriel's stomach and, acting on instinct, she grabbed the latch and tried to pull, but the doors wouldn't give. They had apparently been locked from the inside.

_Why would he lock himself in?_

The king _never_ locked his doors for the simple fact that he could be summoned at any moment—day or night—or, gods forbid, find himself in need of assistance. To Tauriel, this was another tremendous worry that put her senses on high alert.

Despite Daeron's insistence that she cease pounding on the doors, Tauriel viciously knocked and struggled to open them. Finally, with her nerves having been shot to hell, Tauriel gave up and used the adjoining wall to her right to climb, launch her feet from, and kick the heavy doors open. They burst apart, slamming against the inside walls, much to Daeron's horror.

Tauriel rushed in, prompting her skittish colleague to follow at her heel. They made for the king's four-poster bed feet away, expecting to find him sitting up against his pillows and looking cross or, even less likely, still asleep. Neither was the case, and both were left shocked by what they discovered.

A wide awake King Thranduil sat huddled on the floor by the foot of his bed, his long, lean arms locked around his knees which were pressed to his chest. He rocked back and forth without pause, his eyes staring blankly ahead of him at nothing in particular, almost as though he were in some sort of trance. He made a feeble noise but otherwise didn't appear to know two of his personal guards had just barged in on him.

Daeron froze, but Tauriel cautiously approached the king. "Hîr vuin?" she called to him, scanning his withdrawn, hunched stature with worry.

King Thranduil didn't so much as blink or acknowledge Tauriel's presence, not even once she stood directly in front of him and crouched down to be at eye level. She nearly fell back onto her rear at the glazed, clouded stare that greeted her eyes. The king looked straight through her as if she wasn't there, his blue irises, once bright and piercing in their regard, now seemingly beyond her reach.

Tauriel recognised all the symptoms: the persistent rocking, the hazy stare, the lack of awareness regarding his surroundings. _Substance abuse_, she concluded, feeling her heart both sink and beat faster inside her chest.

It was rare for an Elf to develop an addiction, but all the king's signs pointed to it, and, so, Tauriel hesitantly raised a hand to King Thranduil's stone-like face, wishing to draw him out of his madness and suffering, though he didn't shrink or react to her approaching hand.

"_Tauriel_!" Daeron exclaimed, horrified that the Elleth would so much as think about touching the king without his consent.

Tauriel started at her colleague's outburst but then, with fierce determination, defied his warning again and ran a hand over King Thranduil's left cheek. His skin was smooth under her touch, like the finest porcelain, but, again, there came no glimmer of recognition.

"Hîr vuin?" she tried once more, her voice rising in urgency the longer he stared through her, unblinking. "Hîr vuin, are you all right? It - It's Tauriel. Can you hear me? _Hîr vuin_!"

At last, a near shout from her garnered a delayed response. King Thranduil blinked a few times and shuddered, his fuzzy eyes drawing back into focus—somewhat. Even then, he still didn't look at all like himself. His complexion, already considerably pale, was ghostly, and, though he appeared to have recognised his former Captain of the Guard crouching down in front of him, he started all the same, as if he was seeing the redhead for the first time.

"I... I need..." he started in a hoarse, drained whisper; he turned his head slightly to acknowledge Daeron's presence as well.

"_Yes_?" Tauriel pressed, inching closer.

"W - Wine," he finally stammered and licked his dry, blue-tinted lips. "Bring...me...wine..."

Daeron immediately started for the door, but Tauriel called him back. "No!" she shouted and Daeron abruptly turned, confused and then shocked to discover Tauriel now cradling the king's face with both hands. "Hîr vuin, you need us to send for the healers. You're not well."

"_W - Wine_!" he insisted, though weakly.

"Wine has made you ill, my Lord. I cannot allow that request."

"_C - C - Curse you_!" the king snarled, his demeanour changing on a whim.

King Thranduil made a dramatic sweep of his arms in an attempt to drive Tauriel off, but his efforts only served to send him onto his side, his trembling arms unable to support his weight. Luckily, Tauriel was quick to catch him around the waist, thereby preventing the king's face from colliding with the floor.

"Hîr vuin," Tauriel urged as gently as possible; the king's tresses, uncharacteristically messy, hid his face from view as she sought to look at him, "_please_! Let me send for the healers—"

"_NO_!"

Although his cutting answer jolted her, Tauriel recovered and scooted closer to him, unafraid. "You _must_ let us help you—"

"NO! _W - W - WINE!_ BRING M - ME SO - SOME RELIEF!"

"That won't bring you relief, my Lord. It will only make you worse—"

"_DO AS YOU - YOU'RE TOLD, YOU WRE - WRETCHED SHE - SHE-ELF_!"

Determined to ignore King Thranduil's growing hostility, Tauriel turned to Daeron and coaxed him to send for the healers at once. The timid guard dawdled a moment, clearly apprehensive about disobeying his king's commands, belligerent as they were. Evidently, he concluded that King Thranduil's poor condition justified a means of defiance this one time and took off down the hall, leaving Tauriel to fend for herself.

It seemed like an age that she and the king were left alone in each other's company, though Tauriel wasn't as fazed by that as the gut-wrenching sight of the disoriented, indisposed Elven ruler trembling in her arms, who, through pain-staking, self-destructive efforts, had rendered himself weak and mostly incoherent.

Eventually, King Thranduil tired of warring with Tauriel, but his body refused to cease rocking or shaking. He leaned into Tauriel for support, and she settled in next to him without a gripe or ill word. She watched the sore Elf's features contort in agony, his animated expression of pain unrecognisable. He twisted and flinched under her watchful eye, his breathing strained and extreme, as they awaited the coming of the healers over the next crucial moments.

Although Tauriel had heard of the long-term effects addiction could have on an Elf's immortality, she had never witnessed one of her own people suffer like this, only this was no ordinary kinsman or kinswoman of hers; this was her king.

Tauriel found herself torn, helpless to aid King Thranduil in his hour of need, and yet, disheartened at how far gone the king was in his bleak determination to end his own life. She was both enraged and heartbroken, deeply saddened and appalled.

_Can you blame him, Tauriel? Were you not content to die not too long ago?_

Tauriel shook that disturbing thought from her mind and tightened her grip. One of her arms had wound up wrapped around the king's back, the opposite around his front, in a protective sort of embrace. King Thranduil had since gone quiet, but his dazed eyes still stared into hers, their unspoken plea for relief trying on Tauriel's fortitude to do what was best for him.

"The healers will be here soon," she whispered repeatedly; the act of speaking was somehow becoming more of a challenge, however. "Hold on, hîr vuin. _Hold on_..."

Finally, three able-body healers arrived on the scene, followed closely by Daeron and several concerned council members, including Lathron, all of whom converged in the doorway watching as Tauriel and the healers helped a convulsing King Thranduil back to his bed. Inwardly, Tauriel was stewing and grateful the king wasn't in his right state of mind; he surely wouldn't have wanted anyone to see him like this, let alone a handful of his closest associates.

Thankfully, the healers seemed to be on the same page as the infuriated Elleth and soon shooed everyone out of the room. Tauriel hesitated to leave, however. Wasn't it her duty to stay and attend to her king?

Evidently, the healers wouldn't have her additional services and pushed Tauriel out of the way to get to King Thranduil's side, but not before Tauriel peered down at the Elf before they had forced her out. For a split second, she thought she detected another nonverbal message in the king's suffering gaze: an unsaid but unambiguous 'thank you' for coming to his aid at such speed; for barging down his door in order to reach him; for defying what was protocol to check that he was all right.

Then again, perhaps Tauriel had analysed that look of his in error, for, as soon as that soft communication appeared, the foggy gaze resumed, and King Thranduil shut his eyes to her at last, turning away in bed as he did so. Tauriel half reached for the king's hand but then thought better of it. She left the healers to do their work but lingered outside King Thranduil's bedroom until dawn, completely forgetting about her dismissal until the next guard on duty finally insisted that she take her leave.

With great reluctance, and too wired for sleep, Tauriel made her way back to her own quarters at a snail's pace, with that horrible visual of King Thranduil's suffering still fresh in her mind.

_You should've spoken up sooner, Tauriel... You should've barged through that door the first night the king didn't come out... You should've taken that damned wine away from him on your first evening on the job..._

The guilt was overpowering, so heavy and burdensome that, upon her return, Tauriel collapsed at the foot of her bed, her shame-filled eyes tilted towards the floor.

_I failed to stop Kíli from being killed... _

_I failed to mend Legolas's heart after unintentionally breaking it... _

_And since my return to Mirkwood, I've failed to protect my king...from himself_.

Tauriel wrung her hands together uselessly in her lap. _You stand corrected, Tauriel. King Thranduil _should_ find you the disappointment that you've turned out to be..._

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><p>Tauriel didn't sleep much that morning or the next several in a row whilst King Thranduil remained bedridden and unwell. No one was permitted to see him, only the healers, and there was much debate amongst the people as to whether his condition was serious enough to send for the Prince or to not go against what the king would have deemed forbidden.<p>

Tauriel had her own ideas for how best to handle this messy affair. The abominable manner in which she had discovered him—isolated, helpless, and grossly ill from his slow self-destruction—had lit a new fire in the Elleth's soul.

No one was beyond hope, she concluded after much reflection, not even the king, and she prayed that, going forward, she might serve the king far better by speaking her mind and speaking often. If he despised her for doing so then so be it.

_You cannot fail him again. You_ won't _fail him again._

* * *

><p>On King Thranduil's third day of treatment, Tauriel pushed her luck and entered his bedroom without permission. She was somewhat surprised to encounter the king not only wide awake but propped up in bed against several pillows, munching on food but clearly not taking much in by the way he moved his fork around.<p>

He peered up from his breakfast at the intrusion to his solitude but the healers turned on their unwanted guest immediately, going on the defence and insisting that she "not disturb the king".

Tauriel wouldn't be deterred, however, and spoke above the fray that greeted her. "I only wish to speak with his Lordship, if he'll permit me a few minutes of his time? Preferably alone?"

The healers reluctantly turned to their patient for guidance. King Thranduil gave an obvious, unappreciative glare towards his former captain but, with a wave of his hand, quietly dismissed the healers, each of whom made a point of staring Tauriel down disapprovingly before they left.

By the time the doors had closed and Tauriel was, at last, alone with her king, the abrupt alteration to his expression was worrisome. He suddenly appeared deflated rather than on the mend, tired, and refused to look her in the eyes.

With his jaw set tight, King Thranduil finally asked softly, "What do you want?"

"I..." Tauriel took a small step closer to the bed, dismayed that he really didn't look much improved from the last time she saw him. "How are you, hîr vuin?"

King Thranduil kept his eyes on his mostly unconsumed platter. "Fine," was all he provided after a pregnant pause.

"I'd hoped...we might talk..."

This time, King Thranduil raised his head, and the few smooth lines etched along his eyes and mouth conveyed his resignation. "Well?" he tried to offer bitingly, but it came out flat and fatigued. "You have my attention, Tauriel."

Understanding that his tone was an invitation rather than a warning, Tauriel swallowed her uncertainty and approached the king's side of the bed, bowing her head low as she reached him. Something akin to trepidation loomed in those normally cold, hard eyes of his, giving Tauriel pause. It was only during her most recent encounters with the headstrong Elven ruler that she had witnessed him in any way vulnerable or distressed, and that alone made her determination braver as she sought to reach out to one of her kin in need.

_Even kings_, she reminded herself on her way to King Thranduil's bedchamber that morning, _need a helping hand sometimes._

"Let me help you," she blurted out, pleaded, her voice pained and subdued.

A series of emotions glinted across those guarded eyes that usually withheld so much—misery, resentment, panic, hopelessness—and, before Tauriel realised the boundary she had overstepped, she was sitting on the edge of King Thranduil's bed, her hand itching to take his. The thought occurred to her and then disappeared, though it must have been readable in her expression, for King Thranduil broke eye contact to peer down at the strange hand half extended towards him. He blinked a couple times, as though he were examining a curious foreign object from a distant land, and then, to Tauriel's utter surprise, his larger hand—warm, yet strong—covered hers. Tauriel went rigid, her heart rate accelerating and her breath stalling.

"You cannot help me."

_That_ despairing remark forced a reaction. Tauriel squeezed the king's hand, though without prior consideration.

"Please... Let me _try_."

King Thranduil studied his former captain, his face pensive, seemingly dithering between dismissal and defeat. After a moment, he simply lowered his eyes, choosing instead to examine their intertwined hands rather than stare into the face of the Elleth who had pulled back the veil on one of his deepest, darkest secrets and laid it bare before them both.

Tauriel didn't require an answer. Even an outright rejection from the king wouldn't have persuaded her to turn away and wipe her hands clean.

In another bold move, though she hadn't actually given her actions a second thought, Tauriel reached out with her free hand to lightly squeeze King Thranduil's shoulder. He didn't start or recoil at the gesture but continued staring at their clasped hands, numb and unmoving and...terrified.

"This food doesn't look too appetising." She gestured towards his colourless platter, her critical frown soon replaced by an encouraging smile she hoped might perk him up. "I'll ask the healers to bring you something else; something with actual _taste_, yes?"

Slowly, King Thranduil gave the slightest nod of approval, though he remained silent and still. Tauriel pressed his hand again, this time out of respect.

_It's a start._

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><p><strong><span>AN #2: ****...Review (_pretty please_)?**


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